#nonetheless! i hope by shedding some light on aus

[papyrus-onlyblogokay]

Outertale, fellswap gold and underfell are all queued up! I wonder what other aus i can shed light on? These wonderful papyruses are a glory!!!!!

[shuuen-no-cimory]

To Cook a Lobster, Start by Breaking its Shield [A Projectmoon OC Fanfiction]

Language: English Rating: M

WARNING: Violence, gore, heavy language, Blood, mention of cannibalism– The usual District 23 shenanigans, really.]

PREVIEW: “Oh yes, praise me! I know my dish is so amazing it catches you speechless now!”

She’s fucking insane and he’s royally messed up. How could he mess up his very first escort mission? Not to mention when the client was a person quite THAT important? How would his leader respond TO THIS?

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Notes: This is a one year old long fanfic of my fixer OC (Theta) and my friend Geppie on Discord's fixer OC (Nero), sets in District 23 Mirror World AU! I did the illust since last year but ony manage to finish this fic yesterday to celebrate 1st year anniversary of our Project Moon TTRPG campaign, Tunas Office! I hope you may enjoy it!

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A shield exists to protect.

A shield has to be sturdy and immovable, no matter what it has to endure.

That’s how a Zwei Fixer is idealistically supposed to be. Whoever asks for their protection, whenever it is, and wherever they have to be, a Zwei Fixer shall be ready to shield them from any trouble. They'll stand for their client, for the people in The City. However, one may have a question: what if they're the one who fell into trouble themselves? Who would wield the shield for them?

This question came to Theta's mind as she sharpened her carving knife. Her eye wouldn't stop bouncing from the glisten over its blade to the Zwei Association badge tucked on the unconscious man's jacket.

Today's batch came in a bit earlier through her backdoor, surprisingly it was a plus-one batch. It might be great to get a free meat stock, but having too much on a day? That'd be wasteful. Not to mention when this plus-one could be quite a trouble to handle if not dealt properly.

"... Guess I shouldn't have been so greedy..." a frown appeared on the corner of her lips while she shed off unnecessary parts of the meat in her hands, "Now, what to do with that one?"

A click of tongue escaped her lips. It's not that she's ungrateful with the bountiful harvest she had today. Hell, these ingredients were scarce in this type of business niche. However, dealing with them is a problem by itself. To immediately cut up the meat right after she had her hands on it would make it last shorter. It wouldn't be fresh enough when she served them inside her meat pie. On the other hand, keeping them alive for a little longer would be even a greater risk to her.

In an honest opinion, she'd never expect there'll be a day where she could catch a man under Zwei's protection AND The escort from Zwei himself. In a package, nonetheless.

Oh, well, fuck it. She should focus on the main batch she's working on for the day. Can't be distracted for too long.

The knife meticulously carved out the meat from the bones, quite satisfactory despite the imperfections of her work. Slicing meat wasn't as different as crafting wooden charms, anyway. Both were delicate works that had to be done precisely with care and attention, any small mistakes could waste a good ingredient.

Just when she put the carved out meat into her basket, she heard a groan. Her head immediately turned to the source.

Oh, thought that Zwei guy had woken up, he was only disturbed while in his slumber. She only had half the usual dosage of sedative left but luckily, this man’s constitution was suck ass.

Theta approached the light haired man and kneeled down right in front of his peaceful figure. What a sight! A man so young and pretty, sleeping like Snow White in the corner of her kitchen!

In a way, he’s sort of an eye-sore.

Even if he looked bulky thanks to the layered Zwei’s outfit, he’s a bit too lean for her liking. That white hair with some black streaks might look great if dipped into some red soup, though. And what’s with the eyepatch? If it means his eyes or left face has injury, that also lessens the quality of his organ. The meat on his arms could possibly be a bit too gamey from intense arm workouts. A Zwei usually needed that type of workout so they could hold their weapon with both hands, or so that’s what her best friend said a long time ago. 

(Also it’s not like he seemed that much younger than her. If anything, they were probably only a year or two apart.)

Once again she checked off the binding she made on his wrists and ankles, shook it lightly to check its fastness. All pockets and hidden compartments on his clothing had been ransacked as well, resulting in a pile of small weapons and a couple of identifications. She didn’t bother to strip this man off, she wasn’t even sure if she’d cook him up, knowing the circumstance. Though she has to deal with different kinds of men every day, Theta was yet no more than a mere feeble chef, fighting against a fixer (especially one who works under an Association) was off the charts. In all fairness, this was also her first time acquiring a game this extraordinary, a little precautions wouldn’t hurt, no?

Once she was done with the check up, there’s only one last thing to add. ‘Let’s not scare this man once he wakes up,’ that’s the idea that popped up in her mind. Thus, Theta put a black sack over his head. With this, she didn’t have to look at his sorry mug any longer! 

Theta returned back to her work, moving the fresh ingredients to the freezer and preparing her oven to bake the day’s meat pies batch. After that, she was usually supposed to package her warm pies and serve it for the customer. Once daybreak came, she would close her store and wait for yet another new batch of hunts to step onto her traps. Rinse and repeat, day in and day out. Even after 5 years running this business, these redundant cycles never got any lighter.

Perhaps it’s the time to get some helping hands…? Oh, who was she kidding.

***

The Zwei man felt a great pain on his head. Whatever that shit was, it bonked his head too damn hard. Who the fuck set up a prank THAT dangerous on someone’s back door? And why was it so dark in here? He couldn’t see anything! 

A faint noise of clothing being rubbed and soft hums reached his ears. The voice would be comforting if his nose wasn't assaulted by the odor of rust and decay that wafted in the air. It got stronger each moment until he gagged to death. Urgh, he must cover his mouth-

“... What? Wait, the fuck?”

The black sack that covered the Fixer’s head moved frantically on the corner of Theta’s vision. She stopped polishing her cleaver knife and turned her head to the obnoxious noises which disrupted her humming. Oh, well, the cute escort should’ve woken up from his slumber anytime soon or else she’d dump his body somewhere.

He wasn’t ready when the sack suddenly pulled off from his head. Splashes of crimson replaced the suffocating darkness. Among the gores, a tint of gold staring right at his own bloodshot eye.

“Fine morning isn’t it, sir Zwei Fixer- oh, wait,” Theta pulled out his Nest citizenship out of her breast pocket, waving it right in front of his face, “How rude of me, sorry. I mean, sir Nero? Had a nice nap, didn’tcha?”

Theta kneeled right before the man, a playful smile adorned her round face. That would be a cute encounter if only Nero didn’t feel the piercing tip of her carving knife dug on his throat. Nero held back his breath, shutting up and stared back at the red haired woman. It was good that he knew better to keep his composure, especially in front of a freak like her. After all, if she aimed for his meat, she’d have slit his neck right away, not merely use the tip of her knife to lift his chin up.

“Nap? You mean that blunt force trauma on my head?” He gave her a wary laugh, trying not to shit his pants and puked from the gruesome scenery hanging behind the woman, “Thanks for the nap, my boss would definitely nag at me if he knew I had one while on the clock.”

Speaking of work,

“Right, of course you were at work. It doesn’t make sense some random Fixer would just walk into a Bistro’s backdoor in Street of Flavor. Not a member of Zwei, especially.” She chuckled. Her blade slid down from his neck, poked on the Zwei Association's badge nestled on his chest. “So what was it? Infiltration? Patrols? Ah, maybe an escort mission?”

“Just the usual, run-in-the-mill Fixer work, miss. Don’t think a chef like you would be that interested in it.”

“Aw, not even gonna say a tidbit of it? Fiiiine,” Theta stood up and returned to her kitchen counter. Nero could see there’s something over the counter top, yet the chef’s back obscured it. As she hummed, her hand was busy preparing something, “Are you hungry, Nero? Wanna try Theta’s Bistro’s special delicacy?”

The way this woman used his name–moreover with such friendliness–irked him. What the hell did this woman plan on?

A light step, a little dramatic twirl. She faced him with a proud smile and a pie tray in her hands, “Here’s the special dish today~! I’m glad your friend was there to help me!”

Nero stopped breathing. Time slowed down. The pain on his head crushed his skull. He vomited.

She fucked him hard. He was fucked real hard at that point.

With a delicate placement, a black scarf with red lines was laid on the pie tray. Nero knew for sure it had GREEN lines instead of RED. Some vegetable cuts adorned the tray, circling the dish’s main attraction, The Head of K Corp’s W District Branch Office.

“Oh yes, praise me! I know my dish is so amazing it catches you speechless now!”

She’s fucking insane and he’s royally messed up. How could he mess up his very first escort mission? Not to mention when the client was a person quite THAT important? How would his leader respond TO THIS?

Well, there goes his paycheck for sure. And maybe his position in Zwei too? His reputation as well? And moreover, there goes his client…

“What? Doesn’t have the appetite for it?”

“Oh I wish I could,” he gritted his teeth, his hand groped on his back for any knives. While forcing a smile over his cute face (or that’s how he claimed it to be), he held back his rising bile, "but nah, I had a breakfast already ma'am. Maybe... Later?"

Good. Nice answer, Nero. Surely it won't lead him to doom, right? Refusing a meal that has been prepared specially for him isn't a bad thing, right? Even that… Disappointed sigh… Of her… Means it’s not that bad… right?

The chef hummed a tune as she put the plate down back to the counter, “That’s too bad. Put ‘em aside for a little while and the taste turns horrid! Do you know how hard it is to process their meat and to keep it fresh?” She leaned on the counter with a frown. In a swift moment, the glint of her kitchen knife has found its way back to her hand.

Her gloved hand meticulously wiped the blood off while she continued her rambles, “ There’s a reason why I always try to not process all the ingredients I collect right away whenever I get a bit too much, y’know?” A click of tongue and a smack of tail adorned her angry wiping, “Too soon, and the meat would taste bad before I could use it. Too late, and the ingredient may run or mentally deteriorate and it affects the quality of their meat. It’s a labor of love, sure, but it’s still a bit hard for a single, frail woman like me!”

‘Frail’, yeah sure, Lady.

Oh, luck on Nero as he couldn’t find any of his hidden knives. Did this woman take all of it? Even the one he purposefully hid on his boxer? Well, shit, let’s dillying a bit.

“Why don’t you hire someone, then? Surely some would kill to work with you,” just a bit more time, Nero, he thought to himself. In the midst of it, he chose the last resort he had by trying to fiddle with the rope on his wrists. At least this woman wasn’t that clever since she only used those cheap ropes to tie him up. He could feel the rope fraying slightly from his nail but… The woman approached him again with… a pack of cigarettes?

As she stride toward him, his nails froze while it still dug onto the rope. Each step she took revealed more contour of her face. He could notice some blood and cuts over her chef outfit too, some frayed and burned ends too. The moment she squatted down to be on the same level, the antsy Fixer held back his breath.

Time went like forever when Theta stared at him in silence, as if trying to gouge up the details of each strand of his locks or every inch of his wrinkles. It was the gaze of someone who enjoyed the sight of an interesting specimen, so to speak. Her left hand which held the pack propped her chin, it seemed slightly bigger and sharper than her right hand too. In such proximity, of course Nero himself couldn’t help but examine the eccentric murderer’s face as his way to avoid her penetrating golden eye. Started from some uneven bumps on her cheek, down to the cuts just right below her chin. Oh, is that some burned white splotches under her deep wine-colored hair? A third degree burn mark? Those were nasty. He couldn’t see her other eye under those bangs either, was it even there? And her-

His attention moved to her right hand that pulled a stick out of the pack. A white, cheap cigarette, something his seniors from Backstreet usually enjoy. Theta slipped those between her chapped, crimson lips, dyeing its tip. Was it painted with lipstick? Or was it blood?

“Say, do you smoke, Nero?” She took out another stick. Nero chirped, “Err, nah, I don’t, ma’am.”

“Oh, nice,” Theta put the second stick on Nero’s pale lips. “You know, I dislike smokers though I’m a smoker myself. Hated over smoked meat, yanno? It tastes bitter and harder to cook. The quality dropped soooo low. I’m the quality-over-quantity type, you see.”

A flick of her finger turned the gas on, lighting up the tail of her cigarette, “So I have the deal, let’s have a smoke together. If you’d like to be my assistant, feel free to join me. But of course, I’d rather you not smoke for the sake of your meat quality. That, if you wished to be a dish–”

CLANK CLANK

Her words cut off by the Theta immediately stood up at the alarm-like loud noise. She groaned and returned the pack back to her pocket, “Ah, cunt, I didn’t prepare for another meal yet! Do ya know how painful it is to put a new trap?! COME ON!”

Her hand swiftly fetched her knife and in a blink of eye she stormed off the kitchen.

…

Guess luck was really with him that day?

Nero quickly freed himself. Without wasting another second, he scanned every corner for any hidden exit. Nil. No damn way but the door she stormed off to.

He picked up the cleaver, the most clever weapon he could hold at the moment. Where the fuck did that woman stashed all his weapon? Oh, well, he needed to survive. He took the first step out of the door–

BAM

Theta’s back slammed on the wall just right beside the door, spat blood out, “Ya wankers go 3-in-1 on me? Fucking cowards!”

She immediately dashed toward one of the gruff men, knife thrusted– only to get a hard kick on her stomach. She did manage to slice her target’s arm yet she’s writhing on the floor. She lifted her head to find one of the men’s sole crushed her face.

Theta grabbed the man’s foot, pushing it away, “This is how ya beat your business rivals?”

CRACK. Hard stomp on her back.

“No personal feeling, miss. It’s just work.”

Her breath heaved. That might’ve cracked a bone or two.

As Nero watched the fight–Or rather, it was just the woman got pummeled–went on. He couldn’t get his attention away from the battered red hair. It wasn’t like he enjoyed this display of violence. No, he wasn’t a sick fuck, mind you. If he could, he would’ve already taken his eye away from her, or from the only visible exit from this godforsaken place that was behind one of the men. If he came out now, he’d definitely get pulled into the fight.

…And did the woman just mention ‘business rival?’

“... Shit,”

Theta tried to stand up again, but now she was pinned to the wall with her own knife pointed at her neck. Blood dripped from her lips, down to her jaw.

“Last word before we take you back as a soup, ‘Chef’?”

She spat blood to the side, “I gotta say if your meat came from me, you’d rather eat dirt. Mine’s too rotten.”

Despite how hopeless the fight was, she still tried to keep up her calm demeanor. However, even Nero could notice how her hand and tail were flinching even when the tallest of those men was standing right on his vision. It’s a hopeless situation. And he couldn’t do anything about it. Even better, he always knew how not to do anything about this. Better be smart. Better be safe. Better be smart. Better be safe–

Yet there he was, in a moment where both doing nothing or running would cut his life short.

A distant memory was scratching his brain.

Nero held his breath, biting down the forgotten cigarette between his gritted teeth. He didn’t even realize his grip on the cleaver’s handle tightened.

He wasn’t trying to hold his fear back—it was an urge. And it’s popping inside him. Raking his head.

He shouldn’t just stand. He couldn’t just stand. He doesn't want to just stand idle. He must help. He must help. He must do something. HE MUST DO SOMETHING–

A knife rose high, a blunt force crashed down.

The heavy blade rammed into fresh flesh followed by the shrill shriek. Before the stunned two men made their move against the ambusher that attacked their own, Nero pushed the butchered man on them. It took Nero a moment to detach the cleaver from him, yet Theta used the surprise attack as her chance to buy time. When the man that pinned her loosened his grip, Theta snatched her knife by its blade. A reckless hasty move, but now the tip of that knife had pointed the other way.

Although beaten, she had enough energy to pierced this fuckface on their mug. Another scream roared. The Zwei Fixer flinched, yet he had the desire he needed to fulfill. The desire to do something. And so, as the cleaver on his hand was lifted, it fell down on the last man.

One last cries, and… the house went silent.

…

The voices of two people breathing heavily in the air filled this moment with tranquility.

Two eyes met, one with subtle excitement and another with weariness. That moment was only broken by the thud of Nero who fell into his knees. The butcher’s knife slipped from his grip, his chest thumped erratically. Eaten up by realization, he gulped his spit.

He is too far to back off now.

“What is it, love? Too excited after butchered a man?” Theta sneered while pushing her body up, these screwed up legs staggered to keep her balanced. She heaved a laugh, “I thought y’all fixer supposed to be used by this.”

Reality screwed him to the T once again, but doubled it down now. He knew the shit he had to deal with when he decided to become a fixer, but he never expected THIS is the real shit that squashed him. On his first mission nonetheless.

Should he even return at this point? Would his leader throw him under the bus if his section got obliterated for this mistake? Would this bitch even let him off the hook– Wait, he could just kill her now, right? But at what cost? Would it change anything, really?

“... Lighter.”

Theta tilted her head toward him, “What was it?”

Nero lifted his dread-sunken head. He took off the stick that was already crushed between his teeth, and offered it toward Theta, “I need a smoke.”

She coughed up her cackle at the sight. She dipped her hand and pulled out the lighter, along with a box of cigarettes. Two sticks were pulled out of the box, she gave one to Nero along with her lighter, “you probably couldn’t smoke that one, that’s too wet to light up after you drools on.”

Her words ticked Nero off, but he still snatched it off her hand. He huffed as he shifted himself onto a more comfortable sitting position. He never do this before but fuck it, he light up the smoke just like how he saw his coworker done it. A woman’s laugh burst uncontrollably when Nero coughed up for being too hasty. What a lame person, but an entertaining one at that.

“Take it easy,” the laugh wind down to a giggle. The chef took the lighter from Nero, and lit her stick as well. A short inhale taken before she blew it toward him, “hope we can work well, dearest Sous-chef Nero Westenfluss.”

Ah, what a way to start her shift today. Guess the best meal is always the partner who comes through the back door, after all.

[mdzs-owns-my-ass-i-guess]

Women's business

Happy Lesbian Visibility Week to all those who celebrate and identify as such!

I don't think I've ever written anything Sapphic before, so I hope this is enjoyable nonetheless!

There are some implied suggestive themes here but it's nothing outright explicit. This AU makes no sense canonically, but I love powerful women who deserved better, so that's why I came up with this!

Special thanks to @apho-sappho for enabling me to write this.

Enjoy!

"Sect leader Wen." The servant calls out, "Sect leader Jin wishes to see you."

A nod is all the confirmation it takes, and the servant disappears behind the ornate doors, returning seconds later with the guest in tow. A respectful bow later, the two are left alone in the silence of the late evening.

"I did not think you would be visiting me anymore tonight." Sect leader Wen says, smiling warmly from her seat at the large, mahogany table in the center of her room. She seems to have been reading some paperwork, annotating it with the brush resting between her middle and index finger, rings and bracelets glimmering in the candlelight. She has discarded her outer robe, heavy with jewels and golden thread woven through expensive silk, in favor of a light, nearly see-through cream-colored dress.

Her hair flows down her back and shoulders in long, shining strands, and Sect Leader Jin cannot help admiring her. Delicate, red powders enhance the beauty of her eyes, and her lips still shine with remnants of lip stain, her youthful face showing no signs of aging.

She has worn a beautiful pair of ruby earrings that day during the discussion conference proceedings, but she seems to have abandoned them in favor of a pair of simple, golden studs. There is a matching, thin necklace resting atop Sect Leader Wen's chest, a single, round pendant decorating it. Sect Leader Jin knows the symbol of Sparks Amidst Snow has been etched into it, delicately enough for it to only be visible up close.

"A-Su," Wen Qing begins, a playful smile on her lips. "It is quite rude to request an audience this late at night and only spend it staring at me."

Qin Su blinks twice, shaken out of her stupor. She has almost forgotten that is her name, so used to being called "sect leader Jin" all the time, and her cheeks dust pink.

"Can you blame me?" She replies, and sheds her own sect leader's robe, "Any seeing person would be enraptured with the sight of you."

Wen Qing laughs. "Flatterer. If I didn't know any better, I'd say you're trying to earn my favor for tomorrow's proceedings."

Qin Su makes a displeased face and helps herself to the bottle of wine on Wen Qing's table. "I'd rather not think about that. I've had enough of arguing with entitled men for one day."

Wen Qing lets her pour a cup of wine before taking the bottle for herself. "At least you're not the Chief Cultivator."

Qin Su lays down on Wen Qing's bed, and gingerly sips at her cup. "How long do I have to wait until you join me here?"

Wen Qing's eyes flick towards her, and she just so happens to have been loosening the sash of her robes. "Be patient."

Qin Su rolls her eyes as she finishes her wine and reaches to free her hair from its imposing ornamentation. She lifts an amused eyebrow when she notices Wen Qing watching her, ink dripping from the tip of her brush onto the documents.

"You're making a mess of those." She laughs. "Maybe you should be making a mess of me instead~"

But Wen Qing has played this game before and she has never once lost it. She returns to her paperwork, and hides a smirk as she notices Qin Su frowning at the obvious challenge. "Sect Leader Jin, you would need to prove yourself more interesting than these records from our very controversial Yao sect for me to abandon them."

But Qin Su's interest is piqued. "What records?"

"Well, let's just say I received an anonymous suggestion from an anonymous source-"

"Nie Huaisang?"

Wen Qing smiles, fox-like, and Qin Su feels herself flutter everywhere at the sight. "Precisely. It seems like the Yao sect has been duplicitous using the funds we have given them to extend their cultivation schools, so I got a hold of some records-"

"Wei Wuxian?"

"Who else? That sneaky paperman spell of his always comes in handy." She drinks some more of the wine and does not pretend like she didn't purposefully leave a few drops to slide down her chin into her cleavage. "So now I am comparing what I've been told with what appears to be the actual list of expenditures."

Qin Su stretches on the bed like a cat, and cannot hide a hint of devilish satisfaction. "I fear I may not be able to make myself more interesting than those. Can you imagine the scandal if word got out of this right as we're about to decide on the budget?"

Wen Qing smiles, one of her knowing, vengeful, dominant smiles, "It would be truly unfortunate, wouldn't it? I fear the Yao sect might become politically isolated... Even from its close friend, the Jin sect."

Qin Su laughs, heartily. "How I'd love to get rid of that parasite! I don't know why my... predecessor" she spits the word like it's an insult, "has insisted to ally with them. But anyway, I wouldn't cry about losing them, just so you know."

Wen Qing places her brush in its holder and finally stands up from her table. "That's wonderful, I'd hate to see you cry."

Qin Su can't help a wolfish grin. "I thought you said I'm pretty when I cry."

"Only when you cry for me."

[pbs-theundeadmaggot]

Eternally yours

(slight AU) Eddie Munson x gn!reader

[a/n] who said metal can’t be romantic? this imagine is for all my lonley maggots cause who needs a significant other when you can have fictional people?… Also there are two versions of this song if you want to listent to the heavy but still soul destroying version click here and if you want to listen to the straight up midnight wedding vibes in sleepy hollow click here.

This is a short fic only really based on the chorus of the song Eternally yours by Motionless in White. (writers block is seriously messing with me rn but nonetheless enjoy!)

[Warnings] some sight religion bashing pls don’t take it personally and if you do well then you are on the wrong blog lmao go touch some dirt or something? mentions of bad parenting?

other works available here!

Blow the bridge to the past,

wipe the fingerprints,

melt your heart encased in wax, 

seal it with a kiss.

Eddie hadn’t had the conventional upbriging that every other average American family had. In fact, he was left behind by his deadbeat dad and forced into the care of his Uncle Wayne thanks to his absent mom. He was labelled the ’satanic freak’ by most and practically deemed unworthy of being treated like any other human in the small town of Hawkins. The whole town practically shunned him away like some virus that would infect the minds of anyone in contact, destroying what little life was left inside them. 

Ironic really, considering how most of the towns occupants were nothing but brainless minions following the word of some guy in the sky that would apparently save humans from their sins, while simultaneously punishing them for said sins. Either way it was a bunch of bullshit to Eddie, knowing that no belief in a higher power made you a better human than someone who didn’t believe or follow the ’norms'. 

From the day he was born until the day he would die Eddie truly believed he would be nothing but a nobody to anyone, until he met you. Somehow you had broken down the walls that enslaved his heart and set him free from the curse that had been bound to him for what felt like eternity. You had become the light on his darkest days, never dimming or wavering. Constantly surrounding him with what could only be described as hope; hope for his future, forgiveness for his past, excitement for what was in his present. 

As much as he tried to push you away and destroy whatever you gave him, you remained by his side through it all. Promising that you would never leave him unless he looked you in the eyes and told you so, trusting that as much as he believed he didn’t deserve your love, he would learn to accept and treasure it, which eventually he would.

Our fate engraved, scar enslaved, as we mutually destruct.

Repose, my love, I’ve sinned enough for the both of us.

Eddie’s past was often overlooked, people preferring to make their own assumptions and opinions based off of lies and tales conjured up by the ones who blamed him for his fathers actions, that saw him as nothing but a carbon copy of the original Munson who had stuck his claws into the land of Hawkins becoming an infectious pest that they couldn’t seem to get rid of. 

They never even gave him a chance. 

After all he’d endured he never seemed to get a break, instead opting to bury his feelings under his ego and confidence all in an attempt to keep it together for the sake of his family. The townsfolk never saw the tears he shed daily, burning scars into his memory of all the times he’d failed to keep his emotions at bay. Nightmares plaguing him of the times his mother had drilled into his head that “boys don’t cry”, it never was in the Munson name to have feelings and care for anyone but themselves (of course with the exception of Wayne), all Eddie had known was how to channel his energy into his negative coping mechanisms of sex, drugs and alcohol, the real rockstar lifestyle.

He never let anyone get close enough to see the real him, not that anyone was willing to do so in the first place. No-one saw the lonliness that bleed his soul dry, the light being sucked out and replaced by a dim worn out one that threatened to shatter at any given moment. The self hatred that overtook him, cosuming his being and burying itself in all the cracks and crevices of his vessel. 

and then you appeared. 

In the name of love…

You had met Eddie during the fall of 85, apart from the fact that you had moved in nextdoor to him you’d also seen him briefly in the hallways of Hawkins highschool. At the start you had simply admired from afar, you’d heard rumors around town that he was a ’troubled teen’ and a ‘bad influence’ yet you admired his ability to mask the pain it caused him, watching how he would do anything in his power to make his friends happy even if it meant sacrificing himself and his wellbeing. 

Although Eddie’s friends meant the world to him they weren’t necessarily the kind of people he could go to and lay his troubles on, to him they were just innocent kids who had a whole life ahead of them with bright and promising futures that needn’t be weighed down by him and the everlasting chaos that followed. 

it wasn’t until you approached him that he’d realised everything he’d been missing and unconsciously longing for. It was as if something had simply clicked within the universe’s workings, like something had aligned and brought you both together at that very moment. Everything just seemed right. While the friendship  at the begining had been slow and complicated at times you knew of the vile words people spoke about him yet that only made you more determined to prove them wrong, knowing first hand that looks could be deceiving and that even seemingly the toughest people needed someone to have their back.

I’m ready to bury all of my bones,

I’m ready to lie but say I won’t,

People say good things never come easy but loving Eddie was the easiest and bestest thing to happen to you, if only Eddie could see that love wasn’t as scary as it seemed. Within the months stacking up in your relationship things had begun to turn sour, of course that was bound to happen sooner or later. Much to peoples disbelief (or ignorance) traumatised and hurt people often suffer from the consequences of the events that occured. You knew this from the begining, never backing down from the moves Eddie made in an attempt to destroy the love you had handed to him. 

For sure it hurt when he would lie and purposely throw everything back in your face but he needed to understand that no matter how hard he tried to deny the connection you two had, you were not like (almost) everyone else in his life that would walk away the moment things got too hard. You were the person he so desperately wanted and needed, he just couldn’t believe it yet.

So tell me your secrets and join me in pieces,

to rot in this garden made of stones, 

Wayne had begun to see the difference in Eddie’s behaviour ever since you had wondered into his life, silently thanking his lucky stars for giving Eddie someone to believe in. He’d watched how the broken boy he once knew ever so slightly blossomed into a bright young man. The once damaged kid that was shoved aside like dirt on the bottom of your boots was slowly but surely being patched up little by little. 

What’s broken may not be able to be fixed but it sure as hell can be restored into something even better.

Eternally yours

[moririki]

⤷ MORE THAN YOU'D BARGAIN FOR

DENJI X READER -> 1.7K
when it comes to a fool blinded by love, it sure hurts to have the short end of the stick

REQUEST -> ✰
CONTAINS -> angst, friends with benefits‼️, happy ending bc i'm weak like that, denji not knowing how to process emotions, very loose college!au cos i'm lazy, makima being slightly antagonised because fuck her, mentions of sex but nothing super explicit i don't think
MORI'S THOUGHTS -> thinking about denji's hands. i want to learn how to animate manga panels now so i can do a csm edit. also the writing style got kinda boring im SORRY

HEARTBREAK WAS ALWAYS BOUND TO HAPPEN IN THESE SORT OF RELATIONSHIPS. anyone with a pair of eyes and ears could give a clear answer to the question "who does denji like?" and no matter how much you wanted that answer to change, it would never be you.

even when the blonde boy had been so insistent on his heart belonging to another, he still had urges. so under the influence of one too many bottles of alcohol, it was a fairly easy decision for both of you to fall into bed together. more than once. more than you'd care to admit.

being with denji was nice. he was funny, sweet at times and vulgar during the others, and you found yourself repeating a mantra of don't catch feelings for your friend during your time together. and truth be told, it was hard not to, even when you and denji had finished your business and the topic of conversation always seemed to make its way back to makima.

it left a bitter taste in your mouth when denji acted like nothing had happened between the pair of you in other settings. the bitterness turned sour when you realised that there was no reason for him to have to either, and you cursed yourself when you realised you had done the worst thing possible and gone and fallen for your friend who so clearly wouldn't like you back.

but there were times where you thought that you just might have a chance.

even though your cursed your heart for fluttering and rearing its head each time so willingly at denji's mercy, you couldn't help but take every offhand action of his as a ray of hope. with the way his hands engulfed yours to anchor himself as he thrusted into you, the way his lips left urgent kisses on your lips as you panted beneath him, the way he whispered sweet nothings into your ear as you cried out in ecstasy.

and even when you were lying next to each other in his bed, catching your breath. you would turn to look at his face sometimes, only to see him staring at you already with a look in his eyes that could only be described as wistful. but you were a fool to think that you could ever upseat makima in denji's eyes.

false hope could only get you so far.

with his breath tickling the back of your neck and his large hand rubbing patterns into your hip, this false hope really had gotten you somewhere. but all good things must come to an end. words that you dreaded to say weighed heavy on your tongue, but you dragged yourself along, lifting them just enough to feel them escape your lips before you could really stop them.

"denji, what are we?"

you felt the hand that rested on you go still, and the arm that was poised as a pillow for you went rigid. hell, the boy that was holding you so close to his chest had practically stopped breathing, and you felt your eyelids slide shut in a bitter defeat before you heard another word. it's not like you needed them to understand how he felt, anyway.

"we're friends, aren't we?" his tone was so controlled, so even and level and unlike the denji that you knew and, dare you say it, loved. it sent another shot tubneling straight through your heart, and you were glad that you were currently facing away from him. you wouldn't be able to handle seeing the look on his face as all of your tentative hopes were crushed under his heel. all you wanted to do was curl in on yourself and maybe try to cry away the numbness that was invading your body from the chest outward.

you raised a shaking hand to push denji's own off of you, and you felt the mattress underneath you creak as the boy shifted in confusion at your behaviour.

"y/n?"

your kept your back turned to him as you got out of his bed, pulling on your own clothed and scowling in frustration when you couldn't find your shirt anywhere. you were seconds away from letting the first droplets fall, and you did not want to let denji see.

you snagged some random material of a shirt off of the bedroom floor, yanking it over your head and turning to face denji with a face that you hoped wasn't too scrunched from holding back your tears.

"we're not just friends and you fucking know it."

you didn't have time to register his wounded facial expression or the pleading calls of your name that he cast towards your retreating figure, but you grabbed your shoes before leaving his dorm, shutting the door behind you a little too forcefully and storming off back to your own room.

you must look insane, padding along the halls with no shoes as angry tears streaked down your face and you tried your best not to audibly sob. by the time you had made it back to your room your eyes were streaming, and you flopped on your bed with little regard for anything else other than crying your eyes out.

truth be told, after that fateful night and the best cry of your life you felt much better. you knew where you stood, you had your feelings sorted out, and you knew that a little distance would really help you to finally move on from your friend.

now, if only denji would stop calling and texting you like nothing had happened.

you felt like you could scream when you saw a notification from him, asking if you wanted to study for the test that you had next week. you bit back the petty urge to ask him if he wanted to study with you as just friends, instead opting to turn your phone off and bury your face in your pillow once again.

matters of the heart take time, after all.

on denji's end, things weren't looking much better. he brushed off his confusion at your actions and words when you had left so abruptly the other day, only to find himself staring at his ceiling trying to decipher his feelings and what the hell you had meant.

he likes makima. and he has, for a while now. he could count on one hand the amount of times he had interacted with the girl who sat in front of him in the lecture hall, and every time had been met with this strange giddy feeling in his chest. though it was rare, he knew that feeling.

but the one he felt right now was so, so, different. when the door clicked shut behind you, it felt like a piece of him had up and left along with you. the very reason that he had accelerated things so far in your relationship was because of how right things felt with you. the slightest graze of your fingertips across his chest didn't light any fireworks in his mind, but it's like warmth perforated his skin and was injected straight into him from you.

truth be told, that feeling was the most addicting he had ever felt. and when he heard that air of finality right after the door shut behind you, it didn't take long for denji to realise just how cold everything felt without you.

but he still liked makima, right?

that giddy feeling in his chest he got from her was enough to fill the you-shaped hole, right?

you not talking to him wasn't what made his heart hurt, right?

he only realised just how wrong he had it when he talked to makima for the fourth time ever. she had turned in her seat, even smiling at him and asking for a pen, and all that came to mind was how much he missed your smile.

hell, he missed everything. the sound of your laugh, the smell of your hair. the way you fit against him and said his name. and that's when he realised this you-related feeling was.

longing.

there was a knock on your door. and another. you groaned, rolling over to check the time to see that it was three in the morning.

by the time you had cracked your door open you saw a flash of blond hair and a face all-too-familiar, you knew it was too late to slam your door shut. denji's face perked up, and you already knew that you were done for.

he lifted his hand, revealing a pretty albeit crumpled bouquet of flowers. you almost giggled to yourself, guessing that the mastermind of that romantic gesture was most likely denji's roommate aki. but it was appreciated, nonetheless.

"what do you want, denji?" you were painfully aware of just how much of a mess you looked right now- eyes still red around the rim from how many self-pitying tears you had shed over this entire situation.

denji's mouth and opened and closed, and you sighed against your barely open door which still had a chain on it.

"i'm not in the mood, denji."

"no, no, it's just that i wanted to say that i've finally figured out what we are." it appears tgat your friend finally found his voice. you looked him in the eye again, trying not to let the hope in your heart build itself too high. "we're way more than friends, y/n."

you felt any resistance crumble at those words, and the sheepish smile on your face grew.

"so, can i come in?" you smiled at denji, shutting your door to undo the latch before opening it again, wide enough to let him back in to your life. consider him a weakness of yours.

the first thing denji did when he crossed the threshold of your door was wrap his arms around you, dried tears and crumpled flowers and all, and bury his face in your hair. the only words he had to offer was a mumbled i miss you into your skin, and you felt your body melt against him like it had so many times before.

when you finally broke apart, you couldn't help but wonder.

"so, what are the flowers for denji?" the boy before you blushed, his eyes flitting off to the side. he raised a hand to the back of his neck, taking a breath to summon some courage.

"i was hoping... that i could take you out on a date. or be your boyfriend. something like that."

"what?" denji was still bright red, though his eyes were locked onto yours.

"you heard me." you smiled once again, taking a step forwards and effectively closing the distance between you two.

"i would love to."

take a look at the menu - ,, ⚖️ ·˚ ༘ ꒱

[vrednic]

favors | collateral damage (pt.3)

Teen Wolf x Vampire Diaries AU

Prompt: Teen Wolf, but with a twist. Scott McCall has a twin sister… and she falls in love with Derek Hale.

Summary: Derek finds himself in trouble, and Scott is nowhere to be found. Will Serena be the one to save the day?

Word Count: 3,026

Author’s Note: I hope you all enjoy part 3! As always, feedback is greatly appreciated. Thanks for reading :)

*PART ONE*

*PART TWO*

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Two weeks had passed since my first full moon. Scott and I still weren’t on speaking terms, and we both seemed to prefer it that way. On school days, he’d leave the house early to avoid running into me. We didn’t have any classes together, so that made it easy to stay out of each other’s way at school. He had lacrosse practice most days, and they usually ran late, so by the time he got home, I was already in bed. He had also made things official with Allison, so naturally she consumed every other spare second of his life. Part of me felt immense relief because I was able to delay the inevitable confrontation that we would have to have at some point. However, the other part of me also longed for her best friend. I wanted to blame the full moon for the harsh words I said and the dismissive manner that I treated him, but I couldn’t. It was all me.

Scott was the “It” boy when it came to the supernatural. Someway, somehow, he always found himself in the middle of whatever supernatural crisis threatened Beacon Hills. He was a reliable friend and a fantastic leader in-the-making. I recognized that Scott now held the responsibility to save and protect those who were oblivious to our world, as well as those who were a part of it, but my jealousy obstructed all rational thought. I wanted my brother to be there for me the way he was there for complete strangers; the way he meddled in situations that didn’t even concern him. When he didn’t show up the one time I needed him, the disappointment was simply too much to bear.

-----------------------------------------------------------

I was sitting in biology, filling in the bubble for the second to last question of the test we were taking. The room was completely silent except for the swift sound of pencil on paper. I looked up at the clock above the chalkboard, and the hands indicated that there were forty-five minutes remaining in class. I flipped back through the booklet and revised all of my answers. When I was content with all of my responses, I pushed up from my desk and walked towards the front to turn in my test. As I neared the front of the classroom, the smell of blood invaded my nostrils. The scent was too faint to be coming from within the room, so that meant that its source was somewhere on the other side of the classroom door. I finally reached the teacher’s desk and placed my booklet on top of the thin pile of completed tests that were already there. I grabbed a copy of tonight’s homework located on the podium next to the desk, and made my way back to my seat.

As I tucked the homework sheet into my biology notebook, my supernatural hearing picked up the sound of two distinct voices coming from the hallway.

“Where’s Scott McCall?” asked the first voice.

The second person shut their locker, the sound of metal on metal ringing in my ears. They spoke gruffly. “Why should I tell you?”

“Because I asked you politely, and I only do that once.” This time I was able to identify the first voice immediately. It was Derek.

“Hm. Okay, tough guy,” responded the second voice. It was low and laced with arrogance, just like Jackson’s. “How about I help you find him if you tell me what you’re selling him? 

There was a pause. Then, “Well? What is it? Is it Dianabol? HGH?”

“Steroids?” responded Derek, his tone unimpressed.

“No, Girl Scout cookies,” scoffed Jackson. “What the hell do you think I’m talking about? Oh, and, by the way, whatever it is that you’re selling, I’d probably stop sampling the merchandise. You look wrecked.”

There were a few counts of silence. I closed my eyes and focused my hearing, not wanting to miss a single word.

“I’ll find him myself,” said Derek at last.

“No, we’re not done here!�� growled Jackson. There was a sound of movement, and then I heard a body slam up against the lockers. I heard Jackson’s soft groans of discomfort as Derek walked away, his feet dragging slightly as he did.

I knew that it was none of my business, but curiosity got the best of me. I got up from my seat and walked swiftly, but subtly, towards the teacher’s desk.

“Can I use the bathroom?”

Mrs. Grey stopped typing at her computer long enough to peer up at me through her glasses. “Sure, just take the--”

“Great, thanks!” I said, wasting no time to rush out into the hall. Jackson was leaning against a row of lockers on the opposite side of the hall, clutching the back of his neck. I smelled blood on him, but the scent didn’t match up with the one from earlier. We made eye contact for just a moment.

“What the hell are you looking at?” he snapped at me.

I shrugged.

I looked down both ends of the hall, but Derek was already gone. Luckily for me, he left a trail of blood in his wake. I followed the scent past the double doors that led to the soccer and lacrosse fields. I walked onto the middle of the grass and scanned my surroundings. At first glance, both fields seemed empty, but the scent was still present. The only problem was that I could no longer pinpoint which direction it was coming from. The wind had picked up, so now the scent seemed to be coming from everywhere. I decided to move my search onto the perimeter of the field. I checked under the bleachers, by the concession stands, and in the bathrooms, but there was still no sign of Derek. I let out a sigh of frustration and began walking back to the school.

I stopped mid stride when I thought I saw movement from the corner of my eye. I turned, and my breath caught in my throat. Derek was slumped against the side of the storage shed, thick black blood dripping down his left arm. There was a pool of it right beside him growing by the minute. His face was pale and slicked with sweat, and there were dark grey bags under his eyes. If I didn’t know he was a werewolf with supernatural healing abilities, I’d probably think he was dead. I ran over to him and crouched down to his eye level. His eyes found mine; they were no longer cold, but pleading.

“Scott,” he mumbled. “Find Scott.”

I ignored him and instead examined the bullet wound in his arm. The bullet itself seemed to have melted into his skin, glowing a sickly silver-green color. The area around it was swollen and his veins were turning black, a clear sign of a fast-spreading infection.

“I’m gonna get you out of here,” I told him matter-of-factly. “Whatever it is you were shot with, it doesn’t look good. I need to get you someplace safe so we can find a way to fix this.”

“You need to find Scott,” he repeated, breathless.

“I’ll find Scott,” I assured him. “But after I get you out of here. There’s no way I’m leaving for dead here.”

He looked up at me with those beautiful, tired eyes. He knew there was no point in protesting, so he mobilized every ounce of strength within him and tried to slide up to a standing position. I came over next to him, positioning his good arm around my shoulders, wrapped my arm around his torso, and attempted to begin walking. We made it a few steps before I felt him leaning out of my grasp. I stopped and gazed up at him.

“Okay, big guy. I know I’m a werewolf and all, but I’m still only 5’4. You’re almost an entire foot taller than me, so I’m gonna need you to help me out as much as you can.”

He nodded and we resumed walking. I led him across the field into the student parking lot. I found my car in the maze of vehicles and unlocked the passenger side door. As soon as Derek eased into the seat, I shut the door and came around to the other side. I started the car and pulled out of the parking lot onto the road, heading towards Beacon Hills Memorial Hospital. If we were lucky, traffic would be light at this hour, and we’d arrive in a matter of minutes. Derek looked around alarmingly and reached for the steering wheel. I stomped on the brake to stop us from veering into oncoming traffic.

“Are you crazy?” I screamed at him. “Are you trying to get us killed?”

“You can’t take me to the hospital. Anything they give me could potentially speed up the infection and kill me,” he said. He sounded exhausted, but his tone was firm nonetheless. “That, and the Argents are probably looking for me. I’m sure they’d love to finish me off before the infection gets the chance to.”

I blew out a sigh. “Where am I supposed to take you, then?”

“The animal clinic. Hopefully Deaton hasn’t left for the day. Maybe he knows about something that’ll help.”

I did as I was told and quickly made a U-turn in the opposite direction. I drove frantically, stealing glances at Derek here and there to make sure he was still breathing. His eyes remained closed the entire way, but I found comfort in the steady rise and fall of his chest.

---------------------------------------------------------

Once we arrived at the clinic, my heart sunk. Deaton’s car wasn’t in the lot, which meant we were alone and running out of time. I retrieved the spare key from behind the dumpster and hauled Derek inside, leading him to one of the nearest chairs so he could sit while I called Scott. I patted my back pocket for my phone, but it wasn’t there. I ran out to my car and searched the floor and seats for its location, but it was futile. I must have dropped it in the field while I was carrying Derek to my car. I sprinted back inside, where Derek was clutching his arm in agony. I brushed the hair from his forehead gently, which caused him to open his eyes.

“I lost my phone,” I admitted nervously. “Do you have yours?”

He shook his head. “I lost it last night after I was shot.”

Great, just great.

I stopped for a moment to collect myself. After my moment was up, I left the room to find Deaton’s office. I turned on the light and waited a moment so my eyes could adjust. When they did, I found the office phone sitting right by his computer. I picked up the phone and dialed Scott’s number. It rang for several seconds, and just when I thought the voicemail was going to cut the call short, I heard someone pick up on the other end.

“Hey, Doc,” Scott answered. “Is everything okay?”

“Scott,” I said. “You need to get to the animal clinic now. Derek’s dying.”  

There was a momentary pause of confusion. “Serena? Why are you calling me from the clinic? What’s going on?”

I walked back over to Derek and handed him the phone. “It’s Scott.”

“Listen to me carefully,” said Derek. “You need to get me the bullet, or I’m as good as dead.”

“What are you talking about? What bullet?” I heard Scott say.

I paced around the room, trying to keep my anxiety in check. I wasn’t entirely sure why I felt so affected. It’s not like Derek and I were friends. So why did the thought of him dying suddenly seem so unbearable? I could no longer stand to look at Derek. The infection was running its course, eating him from the inside out. He had begun to resemble a rotting corpse. I turned my back to him and focused my attention to the desolate road outside the window, trying to flush out any and all thoughts of death from my mind. I bit my lip, hoping that Scott would walk through the door any second now and save the day, just like he always did.

“Last night when I was looking for Peter… the Argents were there,” Derek explained. “Kate shot me with a bullet laced with wolfsbane. It’s causing some sort of infection that’ll kill me once it reaches my heart. That bullet is the only antidote.”

“Okay, I’m on it. But, uh, do you happen to know what it looks like?” asked Scott.

Derek didn’t reply. I turned around just as he fell sideways onto the floor. The phone slid out of his grasp and across the room. I heard Scott begin to panic over the line. 

“Scott, hurry!” I yelled, loud enough so he could hear. 

I dropped down on my knees next to Derek and gently patted him on the cheek, urging him to wake up, but he remained unconscious. I pressed my ear against his chest, listening for his heartbeat, but I heard nothing but silence. My own heart hammered in my ribcage and tears threatened to spill from my eyes.

“You’re not dying on me, you bastard,” I whispered, wiping away the tears that had managed to escape from the corner of my eyes.

I placed the heel of my hand in the center of his chest and began doing chest compressions. After thirty compressions, I lowered my lips down onto his, giving him two rescue breaths. I was surprised by how soft and warm his lips felt against mine. I continued administering steady compressions, but there was no sign of resuscitation.

I stopped and stared at his lifeless body. I refused to let him fade away just like that, but I had no idea what else to do. Scott would have figured something out; he always did. But I wasn’t Scott.

I felt so small, so useless.

So defeated.

Derek jerked abruptly, gasping for air. His eyes fluttered open and scanned the room until they met mine. I flashed a small smile and gave his hand a small squeeze of reassurance. I helped him up to a sitting position on the floor.

He tipped his head back against the wall and gave a low groan. “I know you thought you lost me there for a minute, but trust me. I don’t go so easily.”

I managed a soft laugh. “I know.”

--------------------------------------------------------

What seemed like an eternity later, Scott finally strolled through the front door of the clinic with Stiles in tow, holding a small golden bullet in his hand. He crouched down next to Derek, who took the bullet immediately and screwed off the tip to release its contents. He pulled out a lighter from his pocket and lit the wolfsbane on fire. Ignited, it emitted a dark blue smoke, which irritated my nasal passages. I set my discomfort aside and focused my attention on Derek, who gathered the ashes into his hand and rubbed them onto his wound. He let out a sharp roar of pain that lasted several seconds, but he healed almost instantaneously. I let out an audible sigh of relief which seemed to go unnoticed by all the boys in the room.

Scott extended his hand and helped Derek up. He still looked a little worse for wear, but the rosy hue of his cheeks was starting to return. The eyebags were gone, leaving behind the olive green eyes that were once again fixed into a hard stare.

“Glad you’re okay, man. I’ll see you around,” Scott told Derek.

Stiles mumbled under his breath. “Hopefully not anytime soon.”

Derek shook Scott’s hand firmly-- an expression of silent gratitude.

Scott and Stiles walked past me toward the front door. Just when I thought Scott was about to walk out, he turned and walked back, stopping in front of me. He gave me a bear hug and kissed my right temple. 

“I’ll see you at home.” He pulled away and walked outside to Stiles’ Jeep. I was about to walk out myself when I heard Derek call my name. I whipped my head around to face him and found him looking at me with those sharp, penetrating eyes. There was an unreadable expression on his face. 

“Why did you do it?” He asked me softly.

“Do what?” But I knew exactly what he meant.

“Save me.”

I felt my pulse quicken and my cheeks heat up. I looked down at my feet and cleared my throat. I hated the thought of potentially stumbling over my words after one small sign of attention from Derek Hale. After a few counts I finally mustered up the courage to look up again. He was still staring.

“I never got the chance to say thank you,” I told him. “For risking your life on the night of my first full moon. You saved me.”

He took this into consideration. “Well, I didn’t do it--”

“For me?” I asked. “I know.” I recognized deep down why Derek did what he did that night, but it hurt much more to admit it out loud. “I know that you did it for Scott, and that’s okay. I know his alliance is important to you.”

He opened his mouth to protest. “That’s not what I was--”

I suddenly felt hyper aware of how ridiculous I sounded trying to explain myself to him. The warm, fuzzy feeling of attraction was gone. Instead, it was replaced by a hollow emptiness and a fiery desire to get the hell away from here-- from him.

“A life for a life, Derek,” I stated bluntly. “You saved my life, and now I’ve saved yours. Don’t read too much into it. I was simply returning the favor.”

Without so much as a goodbye, I turned on my heel and walked out into the cold autumn night. Every fiber of my body wanted to look back, to fetch for some sort of reaction, but I couldn’t go down that path. Not with Derek. I knew better than that.

I needed to be better than that.

TAGS

@broco8​

@slytherinrising​

[ruensroad]

hello! thank u for the last fill! (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧ ✧ﾟ･: *ヽ(◕ヮ◕ヽ) if u r still doing these (sleep deprivation sentence starters) then "You aren't making any sense." for rencheng!!

I need to apologize, i feel like this one got away from me. But thank you so much for the prompt, sorry if this makes no sense (ha). I started feeling really sick in the middle and it took off to directions unknown.

Prompt from this list and it belongs to this RenCheng AU.

---

It was a testament to how strong his core was that the fever only lasted the day. Memories of waking were hazy and blurred together, but there was a constant in them that helped Jiang Cheng realize a passage of time: Lan Qiren leaning over him, patting his forehead with cool cloth, looking far more worried than anyone had any right to be in looking at Jiang Cheng. His layers of robes gradually lessened, and at one point Lan Qiren was in his final two robes and his hair down, but was back to a good three layers when he’d awoken again.

Jin Ling was in the blurs of time as well at times, peeking over the back of the daybed couch, all big eyes and hopeful face. To Jiang Cheng’s relief, he seemed to be keeping his distance so the threat of him getting sick too was avoided. Small mercies. The boy was a nightmare when sick. His robes had also shed layers, at one point free of all his Jin gold and in nothing but the final Yunmeng purple. His hair had been down then, too, and Jiang Cheng could remember wondering if the little heir would demand a braid in his hair from Lan Qiren. He liked sleeping with a braid, after all, and was rather stubborn about it, as he was with all things.

Jiang Cheng didn’t get an answer to that, because when his eyes finally opened for good, it was to Jin Ling hurrying around in his usual ponytail, though he’d shed his robes for white ones. Lan Qiren’s doing, more than likely, because they looked fresh and clean. The sun was high enough over the room that it wasn’t directly in the window, but still bright enough Jiang Cheng had to blink a few times to get the blur and sleep-grit from his eyes to help them adjust.

He might as well have still been sleeping when he realized what he was looking at. Surely, it was a dream.

Lan Qiren was in the three layers of robes still, despite the time, and his hair was unadorned, the top half in a simple tie, not a proper knot. Kneeling on the rug, he had a wooden sheep in his hand, which he moved out of the way as Jin Ling plopped down in his lap, all cheery confidence with his boat and what looked to be a stuffed bird. The man looked… well, like shit, and that was kind. Exhausted, with red eyes and the hint of sleep-bruises under them, but his smile was warm, if tired, as he indulged Jin Ling’s adventures.

“Truly?” he thought he heard the man murmur, his voice rough but still gentle in deference to their play. 

“Yes! I approve,” Jin Ling said, which made no sense, but made Lan Qiren try to huff a laugh, a sad attempt in its fatigue, that still had Jin Ling beaming as he flew the little stuffed bird around. “I approve so much, Old Teacher.”

The sight was too much for Jiang Cheng’s heart to take and he couldn’t breathe for a few moments. The part of him that wanted impossible things only ached more, that this could be what it was like to share his life with Lan Qiren, to share Jin Ling’s love and enthusiasm for everything. Lan Qiren was soft in the light and so gentle, even when his goatee was playfully pulled. It reminded Jiang Cheng, all at once, that the man was a single uncle too, and that he’d raised the Twin Jades of Lan all alone. He was a man of true kindness and loyal love under all his strict bluster, and Jiang Chng had to close his eyes against the way his heart called out so earnestly. It wasn't right, he told himself, to burden the man with more. Jiang Cheng was not worth the headache, he knew that, but still it was getting harder and harder to push the feelings away.

His core reached out to let them know he was awake and Jin Ling came careening in, flopping gracelessly over him with a delighted laugh. “Jiu-jiu!” he said, hugging him tight, and Jiang Cheng held him back just as closely, even if he was a tad winded from taking a bony elbow to the rib. “You’re awake!”

Jiang Cheng just grunted in answer and sat up, careful not to send Jin Ling sprawling. He felt gross, sticky with sweat and fever grime, but the sickness was gone and his core pulsed strongly, as though the fever had never been. He breathed out in relief, his chin resting on the crown of Jin Ling’s head, and took in Lan Qiren once more.

He still looked far too tired, and Jiang Cheng knew immediately he hadn’t slept a wink. He scowled at the man. “What are you doing?”

“Good to see you feeling better,” Lan Qiren huffed, making no move to leave his spot on the rug, though he did shift to face them, the little wooden ship moving slowly between his hands. Jiang Cheng had never seen him fidget before and narrowed his eyes.

“You can’t just say that like you’re not about to spit blood and collapse,” Jiang Cheng huffed right back, and to his credit, Lan Qiren only looked down at the sheep in tired resignation instead of arguing that. “It was just a fever. I wasn’t dying!”

“I am aware,” Lan Qiren said, far too calmly, and it was hard to tell with the way his hair fell down his shoulders, but Jiang Cheng could almost believe the man's ears had gone red. Probably from being called out. 

Well, good. 

“You should have slept,” Jiang Cheng said, the anger quick and confusing. 

“I should have,” Lan Qiren agreed, which was even more confusing. “I wanted to be sure you were going to be alright. You and young master Jin.”

Logically, he knew he should thank the man, but that ache in his heart seemed to snap, and he closed his eyes against seething words. “You’re not making sense,” he finally bit out, because there were other people that could do that. GusuLan was crawling with healers and nurses, as well as nannies for the children who played in groups. There was absolutely no reason for Lan Qiren to have done this, any of this. “You are not my nurse.”

“That I am not,” Lan Qiren agreed, yet again, and this time looked ready to fall over. There was something sad and resigned in his face, which Jiang Cheng hated immediately, but before either of them could apologize or continue to argue, Jin Ling huffed grandly and smacked Jiang Cheng’s chest. It hardly hurt, but it was meant to, and Jiang Cheng turned his scowl down at his nephew.

His nephew, who was scowling right back. “Don’t be so mean to Old Teacher!” he demanded, princely nose in the air. “Old Teacher was worried about you! He likes you!”

“Of course he likes me, we’re friends,” was all Jiang Cheng managed before Jin Ling started getting truly upset and he felt his mood go backwards in panic. “Jin Ling -”

“No he likes you!” Jin Ling said, face puckered in and angry. “He likes you and you’re being mean! Say you’re sorry, or… or I’ll never talk to you again!”

There was silence that followed that and even Lan Qiren seemed a bit shell shocked. And why wouldn’t he? Jin Ling had just basically accused him of liking Jiang Cheng, and Jiang Cheng watched him wide eyes, waiting for the rufution to come.

It didn’t. Lan Qiren just sighed and moved to stand, and it was far more shaky than Jiang Cheng liked. Immediately, his worry came back under a veil of irritation, and he stood too, sitting Jin Ling down and moving over to him.

“Old Master,” he said, ready to take charge, but Lan Qiren just shook his head and there it was, red ears. Jiang Cheng blinked in shock.

“I’m sorry I have caused a fight,” Lan Qiren said, trying to be polite it seemed, but the exhausted sway of his body only had Jiang Cheng aching to brace him. “Do not be angry with your nephew, Sect Leader.”

It still wasn’t a denial. For some reason, Jiang Cheng’s mind kept circling back to that fact, and soon enough his own ears and face flushed with heat. 

“You… you too?” was the intelligence that fell out of his mouth, but for all he winced at the foolish hope in his voice, it got him the single most stunning expression he’d ever seen on Lan Qiren’s face, and everything just sort of stopped.

“You mean…” Lan Qiren swallowed, stunned, but soon softened in relief and in the way the light hit him, highlighting him in a snowy white glow, he was just as ethereal as he had been when they’d walked under the persimmon trees together. 

But for all the man was beautiful and breathtaking, he also looked painfully tired, and Jiang Cheng knew this wasn’t the time or place for this. Not when Lan Qiren was trembling like that.

“Old Master, you need to sleep,” Jiang Cheng said, firm in that for all his own heart was trembling fiercely. “But… tell me again. When you wake up, tell me everything.”

“I don’t know if I will be able to,” Lan Qiren admitted to him, soft in the admission, but gave him a nod nonetheless and, on swaying feet, made his way to the door. “I will try. For you, I will try.”

It was more than Jiang Cheng could hope for, and he was confused, excited, and terrified all at once. “So will I,” he forced himself to promise regardless. “When you wake up. I’ll be waiting.”

A nod, slow and shaky. “I know you will.”

[hela-avenger]

poison & wine- part 17

Author: hela-avenger

Word Count: 1536

Summary: Prince Loki of Asgard is in need of a date to take back home. That’s where you come in with a task of your own to make the whole trip with an insufferable prince worth it. Too bad that things don’t always go as planned and you end up giving more than you can take. Fake-Dating AU.

A/N:  If you’ll like to be tagged please send me a message! Thanks for reading everyone!  

poison & wine masterlist

The shirt was coming along nicely and you couldn’t help but feel proud that you hadn’t lost your touch. It had been a while since you had sown anything from scratch. You used to make most of your clothing, later on mending the things you owned, to a point where you stopped sewing altogether.

Nostalgia was hitting you quite hard but you refused to let your emotions show to the girls who were seated around you.

At hearing of your task, Datya and Lynn had excitedly brought the materials needed and wished to learn how to make a shirt themselves. Alongside making Loki’s shirt, you were teaching the girls how to cut the measured frames and how to stitch them together.

Iana, after having cleaned up the breakfast that the other girls had neglected to help her pick up, had joined you too. She seemed to need no help as she quietly started to make her own shirt.

As of now, you were making a white button-down for the prince while Iana made him a black one, and Lynn and Datya conjoined tried to make a green one.

“So why are you making the prince a shirt?” Lynn asks you. “He already has enough.”

“The Allfather has requested that I do,” you answer with a shrug. “It’s meant to be my gift to signal the start of our courtship.”

You look up at the girls who seemed to have grown silent.

“Is that wrong?”

“No, no, no... “ Datya quickly responds. “It’s just… that’s quite an antiquated notion.”

“It is?” you ask.

“What Datya meant to say it’s that recent courtships tend to skip such traditions in order to proceed to an engagement,” Iana steps in. “I assume the Allfather wants the prince to follow through the long process to assure him he’s ready to take you as his wife.”

You fight against the scowl that wants to make an appearance on your face and simply turn your focus back to sewing the sleeve. You really had to talk to Loki about this whole engagement issue people kept bringing up to you.

“Right, well, either way, it gives me something to do,” you tell them. “It’s been a while since I’ve made anything by hand.”

“I’m surprised that you even know how,” Lynn states. “We were told that Midgard had advanced to an industrial setting.”

“We have,” you stammer out quickly knowing they couldn’t catch on to your lie already. “But my mother was old-fashioned. She taught me everything I know.”  

“Oh, well that’s very kind of her,” Lynn responds. “It’s quite a useful skill to have.”

“It is,” you whisper to yourself. You really didn’t have the mind to think of your mother at this moment. You had to remain focused on the matters in hand.

“So…” Datya pipes in excitedly. “Now that we’re all alone and no interruptions, why don’t we continue our conversation from yesterday?”

“And what conversation was that?” you ask.

“The one about you and Loki!”

“Oh, yes,” Lynn agrees. “You never gave us any details.”

“Girls,” Iana calls out to them in a warning.

“It’s fine, Iana,” you assure her though you were deeply panicking at the incoming interrogation. “They’re just curious.”

Gaining the green light, Datya is quick to ask you a question.

“How did you two meet?” she asks. “Was it love at first sight?”

You knew that Loki and you had failed to discuss a cover story but you knew that nothing worked better than telling the truth at the moment.

“Oh no,” you chuckle out. “Quite the opposite really.”

“Really?” Lynn asks eagerly.  

It’s not that hard to recall your first introduction to the dark prince. You were catching up with Thor about your travels when Loki had decided to walk in.

“I met Loki through his brother. Thor introduced me to him and Loki simply nodded at my greeting and left the room without another word. He was very cold to me in the beginning. It took a long time for him to warm up to me and even then he tends to slip up every now and then.”

“How long have you been together?”

“I uh… It’s hard to measure,” you answer knowing a lie had to be entangled into your words. “I travel a lot in Midgard so my visits to the compound where Loki stays are hard to date exactly. Our… courtship just seems to have appeared out of nowhere one day. There was a shift. One that I didn’t even realize had occurred until I saw him again.”

“Because you missed him,” Lynn sighs out with an enamored tone.

“Yes, because I did,” you can’t help but agree.

“He probably missed you too.”

You hum in response as you cut the thread from the first sleeve done. A silence falls into the room as everyone focuses on sewing but it doesn’t last very long.

“Is he concerned about your mortality?” Datya asks you.

You hadn’t expected that question. You should have known it was coming but you were caught off guard nonetheless.

You heard about Loki’s opinions about Thor and Jane. You knew he didn’t agree with it. You could answer in his own words but you knew that wouldn’t help sell this fake courtship at all.  

“We haven’t really discussed that,” you answer quietly.

“But you thought of it?”

You pause at the question directed solely on your opinion.

Have you thought about your own mortality?

Of course, you have.

You started to when your mother aged in front of your eyes while you remained the same. You thought about it every day since then. It was why you kept yourself moving. Not allowing time to keep you rooted in one spot to watch how things aged and died around you. You couldn’t allow yourself that grief again. You couldn’t carry that weight for the centuries you still had lying ahead.

And yet, you couldn’t bear being alone anymore.

That’s why you had to find your father. He was the only kinship left. The only one who could live long enough to spend the rest of your half-immortality with.

“Yes, I have,” you finally answer. “It’s why I live my life without fear, seek what brings me happiness, and follow it until I reach it.”

“That’s beautiful,” Iana comments.

She had set her sewing down and watched you with an unreadable expression. You felt uneasy under it. Her eyes somehow manage to read you perfectly. You felt as though you revealed too much especially as she cast her eyes away from you.

“Enough questions, girls,” Iana orders. “Allow Lady Y/N her much deserved privacy.”

Datya and Lynn know better than to argue and remain silent. Their attention turned to the cloth at hand. You let out a sigh of relief and finish up the second sleeve with no interruption. All that was left was placing the buttons and perhaps if time allowed it, some embroidered design on the cuffs or the collar.

You set your work in progress down in favor of completing a task you had set for yourself.

“If I wish to pay Heimdall a visit, how would I go around to do so?”

Loki walked down the halls of the palace trying to conjure some sort of plan to overcome the sudden obstacles that had arisen. He hoped you could shed some light on your parent’s history and perhaps from there he could see what resources available he could make use of.

It made him uneasy.

The whole concept of not knowing.

Loki didn’t understand how you’ve lived this long with this question lingering in your mind. He also didn’t understand how you traveled to Asgard with a last minute plan that currently involved him doing all of the hard work.

Loki craved for order. It’s what he desired the most at the moment. Something that you had denied him with this chaotic mess that is the search of your father.

He needed answers. He needed the truth. He needed you.

So the dark prince walked with a purpose in search of you making his way back to his bedroom only to find two of your handmaidens leaving from it.

“Ladies,” Loki greets, startling them instantly.  

“Your majesty,” they bow.

They seemed nervous without bothering to attempt to hide it. Loki brushes past them and swings the door to his room open only to find it empty. He’s quick to turn back to your handmaidens who are looking up at him in alarm.

“Where is she?”

They both share a cautionary look before one of them is bold enough to finally look at Loki in the eye and answer.

“Iana took her to the stables,” she answers. “Lady Y/N wished to visit Heimdall so we told her she would need to ride there.”

“We advised her to wait for you, but she insisted on going alone.”

Loki tries to reel back the anger that rose within him. You had mentioned seeking the All-Seer’s help but he had made it clear that it would be pointless. He should have known you would ignore his warning and go ahead to seek the answer yourself.

With no plan once again.

poison & wine tag: @damalseer​ @just-the-hiddles​ @jessiejunebug​ @nonsensicalobsessions​ @smollest-soybean​ @assassinoftheworld​ @readerbandit​ @doyoufeelikeayounggod​ @strangemcuvlogs​ @ha-tep​ @i-dont-know-eiither​ @gene-king​ @day-dreaming-fox​ @bn-studies​ @is-it-madness​ @sigyn-njorddottir​ @devilbat​ @victor-criss-bish​ @skinny-macncheese​ @musicconversedance​ @baby-bunnyxn​ @fandoms-allovertheplace​ @marvelloonie​ @jinxjinxednova​ @queenmuahaha​ @accio-boys​ @eternalqueensworld​ @umlvk​

Loki Tag: @unicorniorosacomefrutillas​ @thesilentbluesparrow​ @oddly-drawn-muse​ @josiehosiedaninja​ @hp-hogwartsexpress​ @sadwaywardkid​ @wolf-lover74​ @sizzlingbarbarianglitter​

All Works Tag: @jmb959​ @astudyoftimeywimeystuff​ @hellocookiecutter​ @steve-rogers-personal-hell​ @buckybarnesyard​ @not-zari-tak

[lvrexe]

Wild Ride | [2] Hatake

ughhh finally this is completed... it took me a month and some revisions but I got it out. s/n: it’s hardly edited.

[ AO3 ] [ CHAPTER ONE ]

General Fic Info

Rating — Explicit Category — M/M

Content Warnings — None apply Completion — Unfinished

Ships; Hatake Kakashi/Shiranui Genma, Sarutobi Asuma/Shiranui Genma, Hatake Kakashi/Shiranui Genma/Sarutobi Asuma, Nohara Rin/Uchiha Obito

Genre; Romance, Angst, Modern! AU, Occasional Fluff

Tags; Porn with Plot, Poly Relationships, Friends with Benefits, Eventual Romance, Alternative Universe, Semi-Modern AU, Anal sex, Explicit Content, Misinterpreted Relationships, Misunderstandings, Drinking, Alcoholism

Chapter Specific Tags; SFW, just Kakashi set-up, Kakashi mistaking a hook-up as a romantic relationship

Kakashi stirred awake with a heavy weight on his chest. Propping one eye open, he was greeted with the sight of Genma sleeping soundly in his bare chest. Rays of sunlight highlighted most of his features, shining parts of Genma’s peaceful expression, strands of chestnut brown bangs covered parts of his face. His lips gently parted as his body rose and fell with each subtle and calm breath he took.

His eyes narrowed as he inspected the brunette; Genma was an oddity to him— not that he actually minded, quite the opposite. Now, he looked peaceful and sweet, as if he didn’t just ride Kakashi’s dick the previous night. Surprisingly, Genma was well-versed in hiding his more… “slutty” side, to put it bluntly— not many outside of the close-knit friend group knew of his nightly activities. To outsiders, Genma was a man of a calm and collected nature and truly, he was. There just was this hidden side to him.

Slipping Genma off him, Kakashi slowly peeled himself off his bed. He stumbled across his room, stepping over his clothes scattered around his floor. He had expected several sights to be regular occurrences; Naruto and Sasuke fighting, Sakura stopping them; Gai challenging him to any sort of test of skill; Obito and Rin dragging him out of his house. Was him waking up to Genma in his bed and their clothes scattered across his house going to be another recurring scene?

He scrounged around in his drawers for a pair of boxers, some loose pants and fished out a plain white tee. He headed for his bathroom silently, slipping out of his room to not disturb his sleeping… Well, he assumed “partner”. A warm sensation filled his chest as he thought about that. Genma as his partner. Huh, that sounded oddly nice.

He was quick to snap out of it once he reached the door to his bathroom. He shook off the thoughts and let out a sigh. He disregarded the warmth those thoughts brung and pushed into his bathroom.

By the time Kakashi was finished with his shower, Genma was still in his deep slumber. He decided to let him sleep in. His bedroom was just Genma’s for now. Though, Kakashi managed to snag his favourite book series, Icha Icha Paradise. His living area was better lit than his bedroom; a near perfect quantity of natural light peering through the kitchen window, some wandering into his attached living room, the glass sliding doors also provided a fair amount of light as well. He plopped down on his couch and he momentarily froze when his eyes landed on the open whiskey bottle Genma had left. Beside it was Genma’s buzzing phone. It stopped and the screen went black before Kakashi could see what the notification was.

Kakashi was a simple man; he saw a phone buzz from a notification, he got curious. Interest piqued, he reached down and snatched up the phone. It lit up as he pressed the power button. A monochromatic picture of a hand lazily holding a cigarette between two fingers was set as the background. Kakashi cocked his eyebrows at Genma’s set background, it was a bit odd to him but it oddly fit Genma. His attention switched over to the notifications on the screen. A few missed calls, some unanswered messages from Hayate and Shizune, all previews hidden until unlocked, and at the top of it was a reminder. “Tell squads of Chunin Exams” was the title. Guess Genma couldn’t tell all of them the day before.

A tinge of guilt pulled at his chest, he shouldn’t be snooping around. He followed his gut and shut off the phone and placed it back on his coffee table. He grabbed his book and leaned back into his couch, kicking up his feet on his table. Flipping his book open, he tore his attention away from Genma’s phone.

He wasn’t certain how much time had passed after he started a new chapter, but a knock pulled his head out from the pages of his book. He snapped his book closed and pulled himself up from the couch, tossing his book onto the table. He peered through the peephole and stood outside his door was his old teammate, Obito.

Obito’s scarred but bright face beamed at his door, as if he could tell Kakashi was peeking through the hole. His right side was heavily scarred and deformed, a lifetime reminder of the consequences of war. It was a damn miracle Obito survived the war, especially after getting crushed. Kakashi insisted that he return his Sharingan but Obito denied no matter the protest. Now, Obito’s left eye bore the late Fourth Hokage’s eye. Kakashi never got the story of how he received it, but regardless, he was grateful to the Gods, or the Heavens, or whatever, that Obito still stood tall beside him nonetheless.

Unlocking the door, the silver-haired shinobi swung his front door open. Obito grinned ear-to-ear as the white door opened. “Kakashi!” he blurted out, arms spread wide in an exaggerated way to greet the tired shinobi before him. Without warning, he hooked around Kakashi’s neck, pulling the man close. “How’s it going, huh?”

“Obito… it’s only…” Kakashi peeled himself away from his friend and leaned backwards to peer back into his kitchen. “9:30 in the morning.”

“Yeah, but didja forget already?” Obito chirped up as he tugged his best friend close once more, “Breakfast with me and Rin?”

Kakashi’s face recoiled with regret as a hiss left his throat— aimed towards him obviously. “Shit… I’m sorry,” he apologized. “Uh... Just give me a moment. Just stay here.”

As Obito released his grip, Kakashi pushed away from him. “No worries, ‘Kashi,” he replied. He peered over the shoulder of the silver-haired shinobi as Kakashi scrambled around in his house. He took note of the open whiskey bottle in the open living room and the extra pair of shinobi sandals. Obito wasn’t the sharpest tool in the shed, but he also wasn’t naive.

A grin pried at the corners of the Uchiha’s lips as he peered over to Kakashi hovering over his kitchen table, scribbling something down. “Hey, Kakashi, it’s a bit rude to not invite someone in, right?” he teasingly piped up.

Kakashi immediately flinched and sputtered a bit. He knew Obito knew. He turned his head and shakingly looked over at his teammate. “Uh… Well, we’re heading out in a minute, right?” he blurted out. He pushed the cap onto the pen and tossed it to the side. He ripped off the sticky note from the stack and slapped it onto his fridge. As Obito leaned forward in an attempt to read the note, he huffed and covered the side with his hand. Obito backed off and he let out a sigh before reading over the note;

Genma,

I’m heading out for the day. Help yourself to some coffee and breakfast. Make sure to lock the door on your way out. If you’re free, come by tonight.

Kakashi

That was inviting enough, right?... Yeah, probably. Kakashi pushed himself away from his fridge and gathered himself. He slipped on his shoes and pushed Obito out of his house by stepping out himself. He locked the door and shoved the key into his pocket. “Ready to go?” he asked his friend.

Obito, his prying now diminished by the front door shutting, sighed but shrugged his shoulders. He stuffed his hands in his pocket and nodded. “Guess so,” he murmured. Kakashi walked past him and he took one final glance at the house, hoping to spot any sort of movement in the house. But alas, the person in Kakashi’s house was still out-cold sleeping.

“Obito.”

He jolted a bit before scurrying off the porch to catch up with Kakashi.

Rin gazed through the large windows of the small cafe, the lines were long and most tables were filled. She had expected the long lines but not the tables being filled, it was a week day, shouldn’t people be hurrying off to their jobs?

She cursed to herself, silently lecturing to herself for not going in sooner. She took a glance around before slipping inside the shop and sneaking off to the back where one table was clear and free for the taking. The smell of brewing coffee, freshly baked bagels and muffins reached her nostrils and left her a warm, fuzzy feeling blooming in her chest. Nostalgia? Maybe. Team Minato did share several memories here. She slipped into the booth seat and pulled out her phone from her back pocket. Two messages from Obito popped up when her lock screen lit up; “Got Kakashi.”, and “Heading over now~ <3”. She simply sent a thumbs up back, then added a heart emoji for good measure.

It didn’t take the two long before they arrived through the glass doors, bell ringing to alert the baristas of new customers. Rin raised up and a smile grew on her glossy lips. She waved the two Jounin over and closed her mobile game. Kakashi slid onto the seat across from her and Obito walked over to her side, leaning in for a quick kiss of greeting. She shifted over and gave him a spot to sit.

“Didn’t order us drinks?” Obito questioned.

She shook her head and sighed. “Not yet. Line’s been busy and I wanted to grab a good table.” She leaned back into the booth as she gazed over to the two lines at the counters. The cafe had died down a bit in noise but a good five or six people still stood in line. “Here, scoot out, I’ll go order now.”

Kakashi raised his hand in quick protest. “No, no,” he was quick to speak up. He smiled under his mask and stood up. “I’ll pay for our drinks,” he assured as he shifted out of their booth. If Rin or Obito had any objections, he didn’t wait to hear them as he walked into the nearest line.

It took a few minutes but Kakashi finally arrived at the front of the line, tapping on the counter with two fingers as he waited for the barista to come back around. He stood up straight as the employee approached the counter after handing over another customer’s order. His cheeks heated up under his mask as the man approached him. He wore the company uniform of a plain white shirt, black pants and a dark green apron wrapped around his front. Attached to his apron was a nametag: “Touma”.

“Sorry about that, just a busy day today,” Touma excused with a quick chuckle. His face beamed with happiness, a bright smile upon his lips. Kakashi couldn’t tell if it was genuine or if it was forced, but it felt genuine. “What can I get you today?”

Kakashi was grateful he always wore masks, he knew he was a blushing mess underneath. “Urm, well,” he sputtered for a moment, “A medium espresso, large iced coffee and a large mocha coffee.”

Touma hummed in response as he punched in the order. “Anything else today?” he asked.

Kakashi shook his head. “Uh, no, that’s all,” he replied.

“Alright,” Touma nodded. “Your total is 1,212 yen.”

He was quick to pay in cash and slid off to the side, waiting for his order. His eyes lingered on the barista he spoke to. Touma was his type. Shoulder-length dark hair, average height and slender. Touma also held his hair back— but the more Kakashi thought about it, it was probably a requirement for work—, pinning his bangs out of eyes, hair placed in a low, short ponytail. Walnut brown hair, pale skin and deep brown eyes. Touma wasn’t too extraordinary but God, he was attractive.

As he stared, Touma looked familiar. It most definitely wasn’t from him being a regular; Kakashi never paid much attention to the workers. The long locks of brown hair, the deep brown eyes, the pale skin. The same height too. As his eyes lingered on Touma, the barista shifted from himself to another Jounin. Genma.

Touma was a near-perfect doppelganger of Genma.

The three drinks were pushed onto the counter in front of him. He snapped out of his daze and gripped the edge of the cardboard cup tray. As he picked it up, Touma spoke up: “Hey, uh, you’re a shinobi, right?”

“Huh? Yeah, I am,” he answered. “Oh good, I could tell by your headband,” Touma explained. He scratched the back of his neck and chuckled a bit. “If you’re free, come by on Sunday. We do this thing called ‘Shinobi Sunday’ every month. Shinobi of the Leaf get discounts on their orders.”

Kakashi raised his brows in surprise; it must’ve been something new. He nodded and cleared his throat. “Yeah… I’ll see if I’m free.” Not sure how to continue the conversation, or if he even should, Kakashi nodded his head goodbye and slipped away from the counter, letting Touma return to his work.

As he returned to his table, the first thing he noticed was Rin staring intently at him, head resting between her hands. He sighed, preparing for Rin’s antics, and slid the tray onto the table as he sat down.

Rin grabbed her iced coffee and pulled her straw out of its paper wrapping. She grinned as she stabbed her straw into the lid. “Soooo~...?” she sang, giggling to herself. “Did you get his number?”

“I’m– I’m sorry?”

“Did you get that guy’s number?” she repeated. She sipped on her iced coffee and leaned on the table. She had watched the entire interaction but she lacked the audio. “He seemed into you, y’know,” she whispered, as if Obito couldn’t hear. “You should totally ask him out.”

Kakashi’s entire face turned a deep shade of red, face practically steaming, body melting away in embarrassment. “I—! N-no, I couldn’t… He’s just an employee, he’s just doing his job,” he excused, waving off Rin’s pushing. He took a glance over to Touma as he grabbed his espresso. He turned his head down and stared into his cup before prying off his mask to take a sip. “Besides, we hardly know each other. It’d be awkward, right?”

Rin, used to Kakashi’s dismissals, only sighed and slumped her shoulders, sinking back into her seat, sipping on her iced coffee. This was a regular affair between the two, ever since the two were in their teens. Of course, back then, Rin had assumed Kakashi was straight and constantly tried to set him up with any girl who indicated the slightest interest in the son of the White Fang. She had apologized a million times over when he had revealed he was actually gay when the three of them were 17. But that hardly stopped her from her self-promoted role of ‘matchmaker’.

One advantage of being so close with Kakashi was the fact Rin understood his mannerisms. It took her a couple of years but she could tell who and what he was attracted to— probably quicker than he would. But alas, no matter how hard she pushed, Kakashi would retreat back into his shell of solitude. It was a back-and-forth between the two and Kakashi always remained the victor each and every single time.

Defeated, Rin sipped on her iced coffee, ready to change the topic, perhaps about her or Kakashi’s team— oh, how she wondered how Kakashi’s students were doing. She couldn’t remember the last time she had seen them. As she finished off her few sips, she opened her mouth to direct the conversation elsewhere, but Obito had other plans.

“You should ask him out,” Obito insisted.

Kakashi jerked forward as his drink got stuck in his throat from pure shock. He coughed and hid his face in his arm as he slowly recovered. “I’m sorry?”

“Come on, Kakashi. You can’t honestly expect love to just fall into your arms, do you?”

“Well no but—”

Obito leaned forward onto the table. “Then go ask him out. You find him attractive, he probably finds you attractive— half of this damn village does, so take the risk, Kakashi.”

Rin huffed and smacked Obito in the arm. “Come on, Obito, he already said he won’t.”

“Well, he never tries. He should just this once,” Obito insisted. “He’s missed out on so many opportunities already.”

“Obito!” Rin badgered.

Kakashi sighed and finished off his drink with large gulps. He tugged his mask back up his face and over his nose. He raised his hand, butting into the argument. “Rin, it’s fine,” he assured as he spoke up. “Obito’s right.”

Rin turned her head. “What? So you’ll ask the barista out?”

He shook his head, “I never said that. I just said Obito’s right in me never trying.”

Kakashi rubbed the back of his neck. His cheeks tinted a shade of red. “I guess I’m trying to… not miss an opportunity this time,” he admitted sheepishly to his teammates. “There’s someone, I suppose…”

That caught Rin’s attention. Leaning forward, she rested her elbows on the table. “Oh~?” she sang, “Who is it? How’d you two finally start things? Is he cute? I bet he’s cute.”

“Well, I-.. I wouldn’t want to share his personal information…”

“Oh come on, just a name Kakashi? Please?”

Obito took a few sips out of his drink as he watched Rin pester Kakashi for answers but he remained strong in holding back any information she pried for. His mind wandered for a moment before it snapped back to the extra shoes he had seen before. “Wait, is it the guy you—”

“Yes.” Kakashi was quick to butt in.

“Huh. You sure he’s who you want?”

The silver-haired shinobi nodded. He sighed with content and thought back to the brunette man who drove him utterly crazy. “... Yeah,” he affirmed as he thought of Genma.

“He’s who I want.”

“Bye Kakashi!” Rin called out one last time as she and Obito parted ways with him.

Kakashi smiled under his mask, waving goodbye to the other two Jounin. He ambled down the streets of Konoha, shuffling past the groups and gatherings that crowded the roads. His mind lingered back to the upcoming Chunin Exams as he passed by some excited Genin team rambling about it. He’d have to tell his own team about it soon. That, and he’d have to send a message to the Fifth assuring her the three were ready for their second Chunin Exam. He could go visit her personally as well, but Genma’s words from the day before advised him against it; she was probably busied to the bone.

“Kakashi-senpai.”

He recognized that tranquil and composed voice and he shifted around on his heels. A man with cedar brown hair landed on the dirt street before him. His face lit up when he saw the face of an old ANBU friend. “Ah, Tenzo,” he greeted, “It’s nice to finally see you once again. Been awhile.”

Tenzo had a gentle smile on his lips as he approached Kakashi. “It has,” he replied. “Since the disbandment of the ANBU, correct?” Kakashi nodded. Tenzo only nodded in response. “... So, why’d you stop by?” the silver-haired shinobi questioned. He cleared his throat before swiftly changing the subject. “Ah, right, I came to ask about the Chunin Exams on Lady Tsunade’s behalf.”

“Chunin Exams? For what?”

“Lady Tsunade has tasked me with gathering the confirmations of each team’s leader,” Tenzo explained. “And I’ve received confirmation from Team 3’s sensei. But I still need some confirmation from Team 8, Team 10 when they come back from their mission, and of course, your Team 7, Kakashi-senpai.”

He let out a sigh. “Official statement?”

Tenzo gave him a nod. “More or less.”

“Ah, I see…” Kakashi let out another sigh as his shoulders dropped. He straightened himself up and cleared his throat. “The Kakashi led team of Uzumaki Naruto, Uchiha Sasuke, and Haruno Sakura… Under the name of Hatake Kakashi, I nominate the three for the Chunin Exams.” Same spiel as always, or maybe he got some words wrong. Nonetheless, same format but with different names.

It was enough for Tenzo apparently as he nodded. “Alright, that’s good…” he murmured. “I’d love to keep chatting, but I need to gather more confirmations.”

As Tenzo readied to disappear, Kakashi was quick to raise his hand to grab Tenzo’s attention. “Wait, Tenzo,” he called, “Just a quick question.”

“Yes?”

“Will you be around during the Chunin Exams?”

“Of course, why?”

Kakashi pursed his lips under his mask and his brows furrowed. “I have a feeling you’ll need to be there, Tenzo,” he asserted.

Tenzo didn’t need details; the look in Kakashi’s uncovered eye told him enough. “Understood… I’ll be sure to attend. I’ll let Lady Tsunade know,” he assured.

As he took a step to hop off, Tenzo stopped for a moment. “Oh yes, I nearly forgot…” he turned on his heel again to face Kakashi one last time. His hand shuffled around in his back pouch before he pulled out a scroll and tossed it to his superior. “New mission for Team Kakashi, assigned specifically from the Fifth herself.”

Kakashi caught the scroll and rotated it in his hand to eye down the seal. He sighed. No free time anymore.

With a grunt, Naruto collided with the ground, face digging into the ground as Kakashi swung him off his shoulders. And finally, that was it. Team 7 laid defeated before him. Sasuke laid stuck under a fallen tree, Sakura trembling on the dirt ground as she slowly tended to her wounds through medical ninjutsu, and Naruto had his face buried deep in the dirt, his shadow clones poofing away with clouds of smoke.

Kakashi sighed and lowered his guard finally. He frowned his brows as he thought back to the beginning days of their team. ‘I miss when a simple Genjutsu put all of them out of commission…’

His attention was brought to his blonde student behind him as the Genin groaned. Naruto growled and pushed himself up. “That’s it, Kakashi-sensei! Rematch! Right now!!” he shouted at the top of his lungs. “That ain’t fair at all!”

“Now, now, maybe another time, Naruto,” Kakashi denied with a small chuckle. He shifted over to Sakura who was pushing herself up off the ground. “Think you can get Sasuke?”

“Yes, Kakashi-sensei,” she nodded as she scurried off to her teammate.

He swung his open hand out and caught Naruto’s forehead in his palm. “Naruto, I told you we’ll have a rematch another day.”

Sakura pried the tree log off of Sasuke and after some medical ninjutsu, got Sasuke on his feet. With the three Genin settled, Kakashi let out a deep sigh. He had two announcements to make. He pondered which to state first.

“Well… To start this off, we have a mission today,” he finally stated, “and then, the Chunin Exams are also around the corner. If I’m not mistaken, you should be given enough time to squeeze in some additional training by the time we return.”

“The Chunin Exams? You’ve referred us again?” Sakura butted in.

“I’ve nominated you, yes. But you must be the ones to sign up.”

He reached into his pouch, pulled out the Exams registration sheets and tossed them to the three. “Feel free to sign them when you’re gathering supplies for the mission. Have your parents drop them off at the Hokage’s residence,” he instructed.

“About our mission, Kakashi,” Sasuke spoke up, “What is it?”

“Ah, right, our mission…” Kakashi hummed, bringing his hand to his chin. “Well, Suna has requested aid from Konoha shinobi. Apparently, one of their own S-ranked criminals is running about, poisoning their shinobi. Not only are we to aid them in capturing Sasori of the Red Sand but we’ll also need to help them cure the poison.”

Kakashi brought his eyes to Sakura. “We’ll need you to assist with finding that cure as well as aiding our team against the fight with Sasori.” Sakura nodded in response.

This would be the team’s second time taking a mission outside the Land of Fire so it was evident that the three Genin were excited but nervous lingered behind their thrilled expressions. Their first time out of the Land of Fire was their time in the Land of Waves and with that as their only experience, it was understandable to Kakashi.

“I’ll let you go to properly gather what you need,” Kakashi waved off his students. “Please don’t be too late.”

The three Genin nodded and Sasuke was the first to scurry off, heading off in the direction of the Uchiha district. Sakura was next upon the completion of patching up her blonde boyfriend. As Naruto turned on his heels, Kakashi called out, “Naruto.”

“Eh? Kakashi-sensei?” Naruto turned to his teacher. “What is it?”

He took a deep breath. “Be careful, Naruto. Both in mission and the Chunin Exams. You can’t let your anger overwhelm you,” he insisted.

“Try as you might, you cannot deny that seal is cracking, Naruto.”

[rhetoricalrogue]

“Undress” for Roz and Vincent pls and thanks ❤️

And another one that’s been sitting in my inbox for three whole years!  I went with the Witch of the Wilds AU where Vincent is an Amell and Roz is Morrigan’s adopted sister.  This is a direct sequel to this piece and this piece I wrote some time ago.

Rated M for some bathtub friskiness.

“Tell me another story, Papa, please?”  Vincent sat at the edge of his daughter’s bed, his hand stroking her hair. 

“That’s four extra bedtime stories already,” he laughed, leaning over her to kiss her forehead. “I think that’s more than enough for you to go to sleep with, my little Sprout.”

Bryony’s forehead crinkled as she frowned at him.  “But…” 

“Yes?”

“Will you be here tomorrow when I wake up?” she asked, looking far more worried than a little girl should ever be.  “Or are you going away again?”

Vincent’s heart broke.  “Oh, my love,” he told her, gathering her up in his arms and gently rocking back and forth like he used to when she was a baby.  “I am not going anywhere, not without you or your mother, for a very long time.”

“You found what you were looking for?”

He tapped her nose with his finger.  “I did.  And now that I found it, I can stay at home with you forever.”

Bryony snuggled into his chest, her head resting in the crook of his neck and shoulder.  “Do you miss it, the singing?  Grandmother took the songs and the voices away and it’s been ever so lonely since.”

Vincent was thoughtful.  “Sometimes,” he confessed.  “Though now I’m looking forward to all the adventures we’ll have as a family.”

She looked up at him.  “Aunt Morrigan too?”

He smiled.  “Yes, even Aunt Morrigan.  Now,” he scooted her back into bed and tucked her in under the blankets.  “I think it’s time for you to go to sleep.  You’ll need to be fully rested so you can show me all the wonderful things you’ve been up to while I’ve been away, yes?”

“Okay.  And we can have pancakes for breakfast?  Like we did before?”

Vincent chuckled and kissed the crown of her head.  “I’ll see what I can do.”  With that, he stood from her bedside and went to the door, a flick of his wrist extinguishing the candles in the room.

“She worries,” Morrigan told him from where she was leaning against the wall nearby.  “A bit too excessively for a little girl, but I guess it’s not every day her father comes back into her life after a two year absence.”

“An absence I hope she never has to bear again,” Vincent replied, crossing his arms over his chest.

“So, it’s truly gone?  You are a Warden no longer?”

He nodded.  “In name only.  It feels...strange.”

“How so?”

“I’ve lived with the presence of darkspawn and the nights of nightmares for so long as Warden Amell, going back to being Enchanter Amell who can sleep through the night will take some getting used to.”

She snorted.  “More like Apostate Amell, seeing as the Circles are no more.” She pushed herself off the wall and began to walk down the short corridor towards another set of rooms nearby. “And what of your former comrades in arms?  What will you do, if they try to summon you to Weisshaupt to explain exactly how you rid yourself of the Taint?” 

He frowned.  “I would like to see them try.  I’ve avoided them for a decade, I believe I can do the same for several more.”

She arched an elegant eyebrow.  “For the sake of your family, I hope that is the case.”  They stopped before a door.  “Rosalind...she has missed you.”

“And I have missed her.”  He fiddled with the rosewood ring he wore.  “I’ve missed her more than words can express.”

“She worries as well.  Life in Orlais wasn’t always as...kind to her as it was to me.  She fears that you won’t find her as desirable as you once did.”

His eyes went wide.  “That’s ridiculous!  I love her, no matter what she looks like.”

“Try telling that to her.  Some women need to hear the words.”  She nudged his shoulder with hers.  “I am glad you’re back.”

He smiled.  “I knew you’d miss me.”

Her eyes narrowed.  “I never said that.  Though I am glad that Bryony has her father and Rosalind her lover again.”  She turned on her heel and headed back in the direction they came.  “Don’t worry about tomorrow, I’ll take care of my niece so that you and Roz can have a late morning...reuniting.”

Vincent turned his face so she wouldn’t see the blush that bloomed across his cheeks, but she laughed nonetheless, raising her hand in a parting wave as she walked away.  Alone in the hall, he stared at the door in front of him and felt a bolt of anxiety streak through him.  Roz may have fears that he wouldn’t find her desirable any longer, but Vincent had the same fears as well.  The two years he had spent apart from his family hadn’t been peaceful ones. Scars littered his body, most noticeably across his face.  Would she find them ugly, as many others had?  He’d grown accustomed to using a hood or his hair to hide that side of his face from passersby, but he knew that he wouldn’t be able to do the same for the woman who held his heart in her hands.  Taking a bolstering breath, he raised his knuckles to the wood and knocked.

Inside her bedroom, Roz had lit only a few candles at the bedside, opting to illuminate the room with floating wisps, globules of light glowing amber above a copper tub on the far side of the room.

“You haven’t had a chance to bathe since arriving,” she explained, standing next to the tub, the steam coming off it making her look hazy, as if she were a figment of a long-remembered dream.  “I thought a soak would be nice.”

Vincent noticed the way she held her hands tightly in front of her, fingers worrying the matching rosewood ring she wore.  “That would be nice.  Thank you for thinking of me.”  He’d taken off his traveling cloak, gear, and armor earlier, and he noted that it hung neatly by the fireplace.  “This is a nice room.”

Roz nodded.  “The Inquisitor spared no luxury for their arcane advisors.”  She reached down and fussed with the cakes of soaps and towels sitting on a stool she’d put by the tub.  “I’m grateful they put Bryony in her own room nearby.”  Moving away from the tub, she held out her hands and guided him to sit at a chair so he could remove his boots.

“We’ve never had any problem filling the silences,” he told her, wiggling his toes against the plush rug as his socks followed his boots.

Roz bit her lip.  “Then why does it feel like we’re back at the start?”

Vincent rose from his seat and came up to her, hands cupping her shoulders.  “You know me, my love.  Just as I know you.”

Her brow furrowed.  “Things have changed since we last saw the other.”  There was a slight tremble to her lip and she took a sharp breath through her nose to try to still it.

“Yes, I’ve noticed.”  His fingers trailed over the silk robe she wore.  “Silks instead of wool.”  He swayed forward until his face was buried in her hair.  “Roses instead of herbs.  Though you know what hasn’t changed?”

“What?”

Vincent’s palms slid upwards, past her shoulders, over the column of her throat, until he cradled her cheeks in his hands.  “The fact that you look absolutely beautiful to me, no matter what you wear.”  He pressed his forehead against hers.  “Although I will say that I prefer you wearing nothing at all.”

She let out a watery sounding laugh, her hands trembling as she smoothed them over his chest.  “I feel the same way.”  Her fingers moved to the laces of his shirt.  “May I?”

Vincent tensed when she helped him lift his tunic over his head, muscles still sore from a skirmish the day before.  Before she could get a good look at the slashing scars across his ribs, he took her face in his hands again and kissed her, making sure to pour the years of longing and loneliness into it, silently telling her how much he had missed her.

“What about the bath?” she asked, laughing against his mouth.

“Sod the bath,” he mumbled, hands moving to remove her robe.

“Ah ah ah,” Roz reluctantly broke away.  “Those sheets are clean and you, while I very much like the look of you as is, are definitely not.”  

“I can’t even tempt you?”  His hands went to the ties of his pants and for once, the way she looked at him broke through his self-consciousness and he gave her a toothy grin as he made a show of unlacing them.

“You know I find you irresistible,” she countered, eyes roving across his naked body.  “But in.”

“As my lady commands.”  After shedding the last of his clothes, Vincent sank into the water, groaning at the way the heat seemed to sink all the way down into his bones.  “I will say,” he told her, resting his arms on the rim and tilting his head back, “I haven’t had this sort of luxury in a while.”

“Oh?  No fine inns or other places on your travels?”

He snorted, dunking his head and coming back up, hands sluicing water from his face.  “I’m afraid not.  At worst, I’ve had a frozen stream to scrub my arms and face in and at best, a pitcher and a rag with a cake of soap that was gone far before I was finished using it to scrub off the grime.”

“Well then,” Roz bent and swished her hands in the water to lather up a bar of soap that smelled of spices and myrrh.  “Let’s see if I can do one better.”

Vincent groaned as her fingers slid through his hair and massaged his scalp.  “I’ve definitely not had this sort of treatment while away.”

“I should hope not,” she laughed, playfully tugging at his hair as she finished scrubbing it, taking a cup and running water over his head to rinse his hair.  “Sit up, I’ll wash your back for you.”

“You don’t have to,” Vincent mumbled, taking another towel and lathering it up so he could scrub at his arms and chest.

“I know, but I want to.”  She watched as the suds covered his shoulders, obscuring various freckles and scars, both old and unfamiliar to her.  “Where did this one come from?” she asked, finger tracing what looked like a partially healed over bite mark.

“Wolf attack after dealing with a group of genlocks.  I ran out of lyrium potions and magic to heal it completely or else it most likely wouldn’t have scarred.”

“And this one?”

Vincent looked down to where her hands had rounded his shoulder to trace over his collarbone.  “Thief who thought he could mug me and take whatever I had off my body in Orlais.  Suffice to say, he’s not around to do the same to others.”  He grunted as he reached down to scrub at his legs and feet, his knee rising up over the surface of the water, the wounds still fresh looking and healing.

“This is why you were limping, isn’t it?”  Roz moved so she could put her hand over the injury and Vincent inhaled sharply, goosebumps breaking out over his arms at the familiar and long-missed feel of her magic settling over him like a warm, comforting blanket.  Almost immediately, the low, throbbing ache that had kept him company was silenced.

“I ran into a small pocket of those Red Templars you’d spoken about earlier.  One of them was quick with a knife, but not quick enough to dodge a bolt of lighting.”

Roz kept a hand on his knee, feeling the skin knit under her palm, and raised the other towards his face.  “And -”

He stiffened.  On reflex, he tilted his head down, trying to hide behind hair that was unfortunately slicked back from his face.  “The Deep Roads,” he said, reaching out and holding onto her hand.  It happened about six months ago, right while I was at the end of looking for answers.”

“Vincent.”  Her hand tightened on his knee.  “Please, don’t hide from me.”

“It’s ugly.”

She wiggled her hand out of his grasp and moved to lean her hip on the rim of the tub.  “The injury may be, but the man beneath them isn’t.”  She reached out again and although he tensed under her fingers, he allowed her to gently turn his face towards the light the wisps gave off.  “How did it happen?”

He closed his eyes tightly as the pads of her fingers traced the long tracks that went from his temple all the way down to his chin.  “Shriek ambush.  I was with a few fellow Wardens I’d met on my travels and one of the creatures got too close to me.”  He leaned against her hand as she moved over the deep, jagged marks across his eyebrow.  “I was lucky that I didn’t lose the eye.”

“And the others?”  

He shook his head.  “As I said, I was lucky.  After burying the others as best as I could, I spent that last leg of the journey alone.”  It had been painful: out of healing potions, out of lyrum, out of magic energy, Vincent had bandaged himself as much as he could to try and stop the bleeding, the pain of sweat and blood and various darkspawn ichor seeping into open wounds nearly unbearable.

“I wish that it hadn’t happened to you,” she murmured, her fingers tracing along his jaw and chin before catching on the corner of his mouth that had also been split by shriek talons.  “But I’m so grateful that you were able to return to me.”

“Honestly, when I was at the point where I felt most alone, my thoughts would always go to you.”  He circled her wrist with his hand and leaned his face against her palm.  “Thank you for being there with me when I needed you the most.”

Roz let out a cry as she threw herself into his arms, not caring if she managed to get most of her robe wet in the process.  “I’ve missed you so much,” she said, her voice muffled against his shoulder.

He held her tightly.  “I’ve missed you too.  You have no idea how many nights I spent imagining you next to me, the way the light of the campfires would catch on your hair or how just your very presence would throw a sense of calm over me when nightmares would wake me from a few hours’ rest.”

“Probably the same amount of nights I spent wishing you were here beside me,” she answered, standing and moving close to his shoulders so she could bend over him and kiss him passionately.  She grinned at his crestfallen expression when she moved away, nipping his bottom lip as she moved towards the opposite end of the tub.  “I don’t think we finished your bath, my dear,” she teased, kneeling to fish the abandoned cake of soap out of the water near his feet.  She winked at him before moving back up his body, sudsy hands submerging in the cooling bathwater to stroke at his hips, then lower, her motions making Vincent grasp at the sides of the tub with white knuckles while he bucked under her touch.

“Enough,” he rasped, standing from the tub, water sloshing onto the floor and dripping off his body.  “Please, my love.  My wife.  I need you.”  

Roz didn’t know who moved first, but her robe was off her shoulders and flung somewhere behind her, leaving her as bare as he was.  “Hand me a towel,” he requested, hands already roving over her body to press her as close to him as she could get.  “I don’t want to get your nice sheets wet.”

“Sod the sheets,” Rosalind all but growled against his mouth, hands moving across his back as she walked backwards towards the bed.

She let out a muffled shriek as Vincent gathered her in his arms and lifted her off her feet, carrying her the remainder of the way until he could lay her in the bed. “As you wish.” His hair dripped water onto her body, rolling coolly down the valley of her breasts, but she couldn’t bring herself to care.

They were together again.

[starkerparkerpony]

AU where Tony (44-45 y/o) meets an aged up (23-24 y/o) Peter after Civil War, Tony is broken up with Pepper and all kinds of sorry for himself. Peter is a ESU graduate and currently has an internship with Oscorp and is a photographer for the Daily Bugle he is also spiderman and therefore perpetually exhausted and has very little patience.

(It's been a while since I wrote something, please consider reblogging)

I scold because I stan

Tony was starting to get sick of himself.

The self hatred and self pity were starting to crescendo, which was shedding a lot of light on how he got to and where Tony currently was in his life.

Spangle's betrayal shouldn't have hurt as much as it did.

The breakup with Pepper shouldn't have been as painful as it was.

He shouldn't miss the team as much as he did.

Vision injuring Rhodey shouldn't have felt like a personal failure but it did.

Speaking of personal failures, the accords shouldn't have scattered more than half of the planet's protectors in the wind all while labeling them 'war criminals' but they had.

And Tony was sick of himself because his centrally heated penthouse shouldn't be haunted by a Serbian cold but it was.

Because his heartbeat shouldn't feel like someone trying to jackhammer the arc reactor into his sternum sometimes... but it did.

So he decided to go out because his inner 'self hatred' voice was starting to sound too much like his father and that was about the last straw for Tony.

A baseball cap, coat and muffler later, Tony Stark was roaming the streets of New York but then it was too fucking cold for that so he quickly ducked into a cozy looking Irish pub.

He quickly scanned the place for a place to sit, it was pretty packed except for a booth which was occupied by one person who had their head down on the table and appeared to be, best case scenario, dozing off or worst case scenario, passed out.

Appropriate company for the kind of evening he was having he thought to himself as he made his way to the booth.

A waiter came to take his order and Tony took it upon himself to order a bottle of whiskey and two glasses. If he was gonna get hammered in a public place against all good sense then atleast he was gonna do it with some company... even if said company was seemingly unconscious.

When the waiter put down the glasses, his boothmate woke up. And Tony was confronted with a gorgeous guy with stunning brown eyes, he was sporting a rather sizable shiner over his left one but it did absolutely nothing to detract from his attractiveness.

"Jesus Christ... are you actually Tony Stark? Or am I hallucinating?" The guy asked quietly.

"I was hoping you wouldn't recognize me." Tony wrinkled his nose as he admitted.

"That's either a scathing comment on your perception of the general public's intellect or humility which absolutely does not go with the reputation that precedes you," the guy scoffed.

Huh... he's sharp and quick Tony thought.

"A little bit of both. The hat usually, miraculously works." Tony explained

"Don't judge me but I've had an entire wall dedicated to your face ever since your first Rolling Stone cover... the hat wasn't gonna work on me."

"That's a lot to unpack from a stranger"

"I'm Peter Parker."

"You know who I am."

Peter's face split into an overjoyed smile when Tony said that. It was a ridiculous 'only in New York' kinda thing to find yourself in the same booth as Iron Man in your local pub and Peter really needed this after the day he'd had. He was still completely terrified that at any moment Tony would accuse him of being Spiderman and make him sign the accords but he was also gonna let himself relax and enjoy meeting his hero a little.

"I'm not a billionaire expert but shouldn't you be drinking at a much upper scale place than this?" As amazed as he was, Peter was also perplexed by Tony's presence in the pub.

"There's a lot about me that absolutely does not go with the reputation that precedes me. You just admitted to me that you have a wall dedicated to my face and then brushed past it like it was nothing..." Tony said, incredulous.

"You're pretty, you're an amazing scientist, you build robots and are a superhero because of a badass armour you made that can fly. I'm a nerd and bisexual, it's is nothing, just nature basically," Peter waved him off as he started to pour the whiskey for them.

Surprisingly enough Tony's cheeks were a little flushed by the time Peter looked up, which made him think that maybe there isn't much accurate about the reputation that precedes Tony Stark.

"Hmm... who did that to your face?" Tony asked about the shiner Peter was sporting.

"Umm... a girl was getting mugged, I tried to play hero, you should see the other guy as the saying goes" Peter shrugged.

"Wow good for you... could've ended badly though." Tony's chest was unexpectedly and rather worryingly tight hearing about the danger Peter had been in.

"I know... I lost a loved one to a mugging gone wrong but the girl needed help, I didn't really have a choice."

It was like hearing those words was the straw that broke the camel's back for Tony. Because he completely understood what Peter meant. Tony never really felt like he had a choice either and whether or not Peter was ready to have a lot of information about the Avengers and his 'face wall' buddy Iron Man's wretched life choices, he was gonna be vented at like there was no tomorrow. Because Stark men don't go to therapy, they drink and speak very fast at unsuspecting civilians.

So Tony talked and Peter listened, about how the star spangled man with a plan is a fucking douchebag, how fucking hurt he felt that Nat, Clint and Wanda would still choose him over Tony, how he hasn't been able to look Rhodey in the eye since Germany and probably never will be, how easily things fell apart with Pepper even after he tried so hard, how the winter soldier fucking killed his mom and fucking spangles hid it from him, how he probably deserved it because that poor kid that got killed in Sokovia because of him... and as Tony talked he also drank so he was feeling pretty buzzed by the time he was done talking thankfully Peter was drinking right along with him.

It wasn't really a conversation, rather Iron Man just venting to him... he did notice a pattern though, everything Tony complained about, he tied up the line of thought with ultimately blaming himself for it.

Peter had always felt a certain kinship with the guy... but this man telling him how helpless his power had made him to the massive responsibility that came along with it, hit too close to home.

"Are you always this self loathe-y or is this just a today thing?" Peter asked when Tony stopped talking

"What? I don't... what?"

"Buddy... Captain America, if he really did to you what you say he did... then who gives a shit? He's an asshole. And I'm not even a supporter of the accords but even I think that the Rogues could have handled it in a better way...

No seriously, there's way more enhanced folks in this country than just the Avengers, some of them are minors, there's a dude in Hells Kitchen who is gonna sue the government and the UN so that the registration thing is scrapped, Charles Xavier and his team are even collaborating on the lawsuit.

Those people could have really used Captain America with them on this but he was too busy playing Rambo and violating other countries' sovereignty and beating the living shit out of Iron Man apparently.

I mean for a genius, you're a dumbass because you let the people who once tried to nuke Manhattan convince you that you're more dangerous than they are but you had 'dead-kid-in-Sokovia' guilt. So I get it but c'mon cut yourself some slack."

Tony was a bit flabbergasted by the kid's performance.

"Of course you'd say it... you stick my pictures on your wall," Tony grumbled

"Oh hell no! You will not use my stan status against me. I know exactly how problematic my fav is. I know your family made their fortune selling weapons and not just to the US Military and I know you only gave a crap about the under the table dealing with terrorists when they threatened your life but I'm sorry Mr. Stark if you deny yourself the credit for learning from your mistakes then every human everywhere is going straight to hell.

Intellicrops prevented famines... the arc reactor technology is saving the planet from global warming...

I saw that video of Helena Cho with those acid attack victims in India and openly weeped in a Starbucks...

You really did privatize world peace... there's a reason the biggest threat to us now is "evil aliens" you know... cause' what the fuck chance does ISIS have against War Machine? Even that Mandarin thing turned out to be a hoax.

I have 3 patents because of my Maria Stark Foundation grant and I didn't even get the MIT-full funding ones... one day one of those kids is going to cure cancer and it's going to be because of you.

So of course I'll defend you man... but you don't seem to realize that any decent person would." Peter was pretty pleased with himself after that and shot Tony an eyebrow raise as if daring him to disagree.

"I got nothing."

"Of course you don't." Peter grinned.

Maybe Tony had just isolated himself too much from people who didn't consider him a complete and utter asshole.

But with Peter it didn't even feel like praise... it was like the guy was scolding him for being too mean to himself.

It felt nice nonetheless.

Before Tony had even recovered from Peter's glorious rant, the younger guy handed him a business card with the words "Daily Bugle" embossed on it.

"Don't hold my gossip rag workplace against me... it's easy money and I'm only doing it till Norman Osbourne starts paying me for the work I already do for him." Peter shrugged

"You're with Oscorp? What do you do? Why not SI?" If he had scored an internship with Oscorp and a grant from his own foundation then he must be good enough for SI.

"I'm R&D chemical engineering and I'm not at SI because your recruiters are assholes who demand 3 years experience for a beginner position..." said Peter matter of factly.

"You should apply with us again." Tony insisted, the guy had 3 patents and very sharp, after tonight the least Tony could do was get him a job.

"You should call me." Peter countered

"I- wait are you hitting on me?" And much to Tony's chagrin, he found himself blushing again.

"Yeah duh Mr. Stark."

"I'm old enough to be your father." Tony sputtered and that hurt to admit.

"And I have insane daddy issues- you'll love me. I'm not even gonna ask you for a selfie... you don't look your best right now but definitely call me." Peter winked as he started to leave.

"You're fucking negging me?!" said Tony looking up at the ballsy kid as he slid out of the booth.

"Hey you miss 100% of the shots you don't take. Gandhi said that." The kid called over his shoulder as he walked away.

"Gandhi absolutely did not say that Peter." Tony yelled back.

God he was gonna call the guy.

Read part 2 here, part 3 here

[offbrandmercyplates]

Ms. Emmibee makes some Greek God AU Emster comics, so I follow immediately with a fanfic WEEEEE

The title of this post kind of says it all, but hey! I’m Yours The Author, and if Ms. Emmibee will allow it, the following story will be posted on my fanfiction and AO3 accounts, sooner or later. Like the first fanfic I posted here, it combines a few of the comics and even some fan art, to an extent (shout out to amee-racle for the inspiration of one of the scenes here!) into a semi-coherrent story. I originally started with an introduction scene that showed the Kore (Emmi) and Hades (Gaster) seeing but not meeting each other for the first time, but I realized the main scene I wanted to get to could be more concise and still deliver most of the same information, so I did some reworking. I hope you like it! This involves the “pomegranate” comic, mentions some stuff related to the “jewels” comic, and has a reference to amee-racle’s fan art of Kore and Hades with flower crowns! See you at the bottom!

The Meeting and the Benefits of Breaking the Rules of the Underworld

“My name is Kore. I’m the goddess of spring,” the floating humanoid in the long dress stated.

The skeleton god stared at her. “I am Hades, the King of the Underworld.” He looked a little prideful when he said that, but his expression quickly reverted to one of bewilderment. “Now I’ll ask again: how did you get down here?”

“You left the cave open when you came down here,” Kore replied.

“…Oh.” It was silent for a few moments, aside from the distant drips of water from the cave’s ceiling and the breeze Kore naturally stirred. Hades slowly pointed behind her. “The exit is that way.”

“I know.”

“…Then why don’t you leave?”

“I don’t wanna.”

“…Why?”

“I wanted to talk to you.”

“Ah, you’re here on business. Very well; what do you wish to discuss?”

Kore held out her cupped hands. In the light of the crystals hanging from the walls and ceiling, a small pile of jewels glittered in her palms. All sorts of stones, in all sorts of colors. “You’re the one who’s been leaving these for me to find, right?” She asked.

“A-ah…” Hades blushed and tightened his grip on his golden staff. “I just—you—you liked that star sapphire I dropped, so I thought I’d let you find more,” he admitted.

Kore shifted the stones around to examine the smooth blue gem with a white star pattern in the middle. “Well… thank you!” she grinned happily, and Hades quickly adjusted his gold-rimmed glasses.

“Y-you’re welcome…”

“And I have something for you!”

“…You do?”

“Yep! I made this for you!” She put the stones away in the pouch tied to her waist, then lifted the flower crown off of her head and placed it over his own shiny crown of metal.

Hades blinked and lifted the flower crown a bit to inspect it. It was a crown of large roses, alternating between yellow blossoms with red tips and lavender blooms. The woven stems weren’t thorny at all, and they didn’t wilt, suggesting they were made with magic. “…Oh.” He slowly let the crown settle on his head. “…Thank you.”

“You’re welcome!”

It was quiet again. The pink and yellow blossoms woven into Kore’s long and wild locks shed their petals into the breeze, only to regrow and repeat the process. It was a very picturesque scene.

If Hades had lips, he’d probably be biting them nervously. This little goddess was stirring… unnecessary feelings, as well as a breeze. “You should probably go—” he began.

“Got any snacks around here?”

“…Wouldn’t… you rather eat the food from above?”

“I want to try new things.”

“Well…” he thought for a moment, then raised his free hand towards the wall of the cave. It shifted open, revealing a path that led to a garden. Kore floated through the garden, technically impolite for not having waited for permission to enter, but forgiven nonetheless. Hades followed after her. “Many from above believe that no life can exist in the Underworld,” he explained. “This is both true and misleading. Plants that die above ground regrow down here; their life force entwining with the Underworld’s logic. The food in this garden can be eaten by gods and even mortals who live above, bUT–!” He gestured wildly for her to stop.

Kore had picked a shiny red pomegranate and ripped it in half with her bare hands, revealing the glistening seeds. She had been about to dig in, but paused and looked up at him, awaiting an explanation. Hades straightened his long black tunic and tried to look calm. “But you must not eat that pomegranate.”

“Huh?” Kore cocked her head to the side, hovering at eye level. “Why not?”

“The pomegranate is sacred here. It represents the very nature of the Underworld: life,” he gestured to the little spring goddess, “and death,” he put a hand to his sternum. “It is connected to the Underworld, just as I am. If you eat its seeds, you will be bound to the Underworld, and…” he blushed, “to me.”

“Ooooh,” Kore hummed.

“Indeed.”

“…”

Without breaking eye contact, Kore shoveled every seed in both halves of the pomegranate into her mouth. Hades’ jaw dropped open, sputtering sounds barely escaping his teeth as she licked the juice from her fingers, still looking him right in the eye sockets.

“WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!” He finally managed.

“You just explained to me what it means.”

“YES, BUT—”

“So when should the wedding be?”

“THE WHAT?!”

Kore pulled some of the flowers out of her hair and began to weave them together as if she didn’t just seal her soul to a cave under the ground. “Oh, can we invite my mother, too? I feel like the Goddess of Nature wouldn’t take kindly to not being invited to her daughter’s wedding.”

“M-mother Nature?”

“Mm.”

“She is going to destroy me…” Hades covered his face with his hands.

Kore finished the new crown and set it on her head: an alternating mix of yellow primroses and pink cherry blossoms. “Don’t worry, I won’t let her. Besides, being a goddess bound to the Underworld doesn’t mean I have to be here all the time, right?”

“Well… technically, but—”

“So I can spend some time above ground and spend the rest of the time with you!”

“I—I! I…”

Kore’s smile grew smaller. “Do you not want to…?”

“No! I mean—I… won’t make a very good husband. I’ll disappoint you.”

“I’ll be the judge of that.” She hovered next to him and gently bumped his skull with her head. “C’mon, let’s go say hello to your new mother-in-law!”

“This will not end well…”

***

I don’t know much about the logic of eating food from the Underworld in this AU (Hades specifically mentions the significance of the pomegranate, and that had to have come from somewhere), so I went with the concept that plants that die before their time or under specific circumstances can grow and bear fruit in the Underworld, and anyone can eat any of that food /except/ the pomegranates. In reality, you likely can’t eat any food from the Underworld, but it was just a thought.

Hades can open a cave to go back to the Underworld, but sometimes he forgets to close it behind him, hence how Kore got in.

Flower and jewel symbolism:

Roses generally mean affection, but the color of the rose is often extremely important! Yellow roses with red at the tips of the petals represents falling in love, while lavender-colored roses represent love at first sight.

Star sapphires are often called “the stones of destiny”, and can extend mental focus and knowledge.

Sakura blossoms are practically the living symbol of spring and can represent renewal.

Primroses represent young love, and yellow primroses can represent spring and the sun.

Hades’ “I’ll disappoint you” line is based on something similar he says in a Zarla MercyPlates comic, where Papyrus tells him to be good, and Gaster says something like “I’ll try, but I’ll just disappoint you.” Ah… parallels.

Alright, I think that’s everything. Let me know if it’s okay to post these on my fanfiction and AO3 accounts. I’ll see you around! Keep being awesome! ~~~ No YOU keep being awesome!!! This is absolutely lovely hhhhhh

You’re more than welcome to post this on AO3 and FF. I’ll definitely post it here!

Now to respond to the notes!!

The pomegranate thing is great! The pomegranate symbolism from the comic is actually based on its IRL symbolism, which is similar across many cultures (representing life and death, and also love sometimes), and I think your explanation is really cool!

Hades forgetting to close the cave door is a big mood tbh.

I recognized the “I’ll disappoint you” quote and i CRY

Have I mentioned how much I love flower symbolism??? I LOVE how you used that in this!!

Thank you so much!!!!

[baoshan-sanren]

Part 5

to the fucking NieLan arranged marriage AU I can’t stop thinking about

pt.1 here pt.2 here pt.3 here pt.4 here

XiChen sleeps poorly the night before his wedding, and is awake long before his customary time. WangJi knocks softly on his door around five in the morning, and finds him sitting up by the window, staring out into the darkness.

The estate is a lovely one, all while staying true to the Nie Sect design and colors. In the Unclean Realm, the dark grays and greens are heavy against the background of stones and steel, never truly letting you forget that the main seat of the Nie Sect is first and foremost a fortress. The estate, however, must have been designed with warmer months in mind. As such, it resembles a home of a high-ranking magistrate or a military official; sparsely decorated and far from opulent, but very comfortable nonetheless. At least, XiChen does not feel as if the walls and ceiling are pressing down on him here, they way they are sure to do in the Unclean Realm.  

He has spent the night alone with his thoughts, which are all highly anxious and melancholy in nature.

He is no child, to shed tears for leaving home, but even so, a deep sadness had settled in his chest. The loss of the Sect leader title, and the responsibility that the title carries, is a loss he can easily bear; WangJi is certainly just as capable, and his temperament will prove more fitting to the role. But he had never imagined a day when he could no longer think of Cloud Recesses as his home.

Despite having had months to make his peace with such an immense alteration to his life and future, he cannot imagine ever seeing the Unclean Realm as a place where he truly belongs.

WangJi joins him without saying a word, and they sit in silence for a while, until they hear the household turn lively. Then they both rise, and attend to their own tasks.

XiChen drinks a little tea as the morning progresses, but does not eat much of anything at all. His stomach is twisted in knots; he would never admit that his anxiety has reached levels of physical discomfort, but WangJi seems to understand, and waylays any good-natured soul who seeks to ambush XiChen with a plate of snacks. The bathing, ordinarily a relaxing, comforting process, is an hour long procedure that requires instruction, and XiChen intends to never speak of it with another human being again, as long as he lives. It takes nearly two hours to wrap him in all the layers of red silk and brocade, and an additional two to brush and arrange his hair.

By then, his future husband and the Nie sect escort have arrived. XiChen’s heart is in his throat as he steps out of the front entrance, and crosses the short path to the palanquin, keeping his eyes lowered the entire time. He hopes the action is taken as modesty, when in truth, he is afraid that all the anxiety lodged in his abdomen can be seen on his face.

The trip to the Unclean Realm is both too long, and not nearly long enough. XiChen focuses on breathing deeply, and not wrinkling the six layers of cloth crammed in the palanquin with him. The Lan Sect rarely ever rides horses, but nearly a hundred were produced just for this occasion, each pure white, their silver manes brushed until they shone. WangJi places himself firmly to the right of the sedan chair. Each time the wind ruffles the curtains, XiChen can see his brother’s profile by his side. He finds himself pathetically grateful for this small comfort, one he did not ask for, but desperately needed. They are not likely to see each other very often in the months to come, and while WangJi will be busy planning his own wedding, XiChen must devote his time to adapting to his husband’s household.

The Unclean Realm is as dark and foreboding as XiChen remembers it being, despite the lavish decorations, the gold and crimson distinctly out of place among the heavy stones and muted greens. The wedding robes seem more cumbersome than ever, and yet, they provide him with little warmth. His hands feel icy but damp. The winter winds carry a bitter chill this far north, and even the combined scents of the earth and forest are utterly unfamiliar. There is a tiny voice in his head insisting that it is still not too late to change his mind, but he hushes it firmly. Two people are necessary to carry the excess of brocade, and XiChen takes small, careful steps, afraid of tripping over all the layers. Among a sea of faces that are only a blur, HuaiSang’s shining eyes meet his only for a moment. Then he is facing his future husband, and time proceeds at a supernatural speed.

Logically, he knows that they bow, but later, he will only remember it in a vague, dim way, as a dream that begins to fade the moment one is awake. He knows that Nie Mingjue’s dark eyes are watching him carefully, although XiChen only meets his gaze once. The man’s face is unreadable, and he does not smile. XiChen’s hands tremble when he serves the tea, but the Nie elders are infinitely kind and forgiving of his clumsiness. The banquet goes on forever. He exchanges a quick word with HuaiSang, and many other people he will later not remember. He eats a little, only because his husband places the food in front of him. He does not drink. His husband does not drink. Many of the others do, and as time passes, the din becomes louder, and XiChen’s smile starts to feel painful on his face.  

By the time Nie MingJue rises from his seat, there is a dull pain throbbing in XiChen’s temples, and he has never felt so exhausted in his life. As they leave the banquet hall, the Nie Sect disciples close ranks behind them, stopping the well-wishers from spilling out into the hall. That is another tradition broken, but XiChen is happy for it; what he does is no longer the concern of the Lan Sect. Any tradition broken or upheld is now for his husband to decide, and XiChen thinks Nie MingJue only serves the tradition on those occasions it will serve him back.

The trip to their wedding chambers is silent. XiChen is not exactly dreading whats to come, but his nerves are strung tight, and the pain in his head is not abating. It suddenly seems ridiculous to him, that such a day, with so many trials, and so many intricate, nerve-wrecking rules, should be expected to conclude in a marriage bed. Such a day, even if shared among two people in love, is sure to end in anything but a satisfying session of lovemaking. How is he to navigate this with a complete stranger? He has never felt less desirable in his life, nor less capable of pleasing someone else.  

Too soon, the doors to their wedding chambers are in front of them, and then the bed itself, a beautifully built frame of dark, heavy wood, large enough to sleep five men comfortably, side by side. XiChen feels himself freeze in place, no longer able to fall back on instruction.

Only now, he admits to himself that this had been the true source of all his panic. All else can be learned, practiced, repeated until perfected. This, he had no reference for, no knowledge of, and he is sure, all over again, that he must be a disappointment, and that Nie MingJue will regret his decision to marry XiChen before the night is over.

Although he is fairly certain that his face gives none of this away, Nie MingJue takes his elbow, and steers him gently to the privacy screen at the far end of the room. Grateful to be left alone, XiChen breathes deeply, his head throbbing in tandem with his heartbeat. The wedding clothes would be more easily shed with another set of hands, and his are now trembling, each hoop and sash impossibly difficult to undo. He does not wish for assistance, however, and he hopes that Nie MingJue is more patient than his reputation would make it seem. Removing the hair ornaments is the last difficult task, and once his hair is free of bindings and flowing loosely around his shoulders, the pain in his head seems to ease.

He washes his face with warm water, bypassing the numerous oils and scents arranged neatly by the basin. The night robes left for him are not scarlet, but a deep silvery gray of the Nie Sect, the material light and soothing against his skin.

Leaving the safety of the privacy screen, he feels no more prepared for whats to come, but for the first time since the heavy layers of cloth had settled on his shoulders that morning, he feels like himself. Nie MingJue’s night robes are a deep, dark green, the color of the moss along a river’s edge. He looks imposing and stern, even with his hair loose, and XiChen finds that he cannot meet his eyes.

He should smile. He should be warm and welcoming. Instead, he shivers, unaccustomed to the cold of the stone floors.

“It has been a long day,” Nie MingJue says, his voice low, “You should rest.”

For a few breaths, XiChen is frozen in place. He feels both dismay and gratitude, but most of all a deep sadness, and a disappointment in himself that is painfully familiar. But he obeys the instruction, sliding to the far side of the bed, and expecting his husband to do the same.

He waits for some time, but the bed remains empty, and although he eventually does fall asleep, he does so alone.

[patandpran]

The Light in the Dark - A Saratine Demon/Angel AU fic

Summary: Angel and DemonKind have always been at odds. Sarawat is an Angel who is forced to live amongst Demons and conceal his identity by acting as a Demon himself. He must fight ever part of himself that is Good to keep his secret but one day. he intervenes in a fight and saves a Demon named Tine who is anything but happy with the intervention...

This was written after a convo and a brainstorm with @sarawatism so basically, as always Nen gets me to write a story haha

Inspired by this post by @nuisanceandthehandsomeprince​

Sarawat didn’t choose to be born this way. He just was. He wanted to fit in and he tried his best to fight the goodness inside of him, the light that dwelled no matter how hard he tried to banish it to the darkest depths of his being, but its brightness shined on. He was wrong for this world and yet, he lived in it so he is forced to go on feeling like an outsider but pretending that he is one of them: part of DemonKind.

Living amongst Demons when you came from the world of Angels was a difficult path to navigate. Sarawat had lived with the lethal secret his entire life and his adoptive parents did what they could to keep the reality of his angelic identity hidden from the world around them. They were what they called ‘allies’, Demons who believed that Demons and Angels should live in balance rather than in opposition to one another, and had found Sarawat wandering the streets of the Demon world before he could even speak. He was wearing a broach that bore the Angel insignia and had the ice blue eyes that were indicative of AngelKind. There was no way that he would run into another Demon without being destroyed on the spot.  

With no Angels in sight and no other explanation why a toddler of Angelic descent would be abandoned in the DemonWorld, his parents had to act fast. His existence was confounding but they chose to help him despite the mystery of his origin and arrival. They quickly concealed him in their home where he remained for years until they thought he could make his way into public without raising alarms.

Passing Sarawat off as a Demon had taken years of practice. He always knew of his true identity but had to fight against ever single natural urge he experienced as it would reveal the truth of who he was if he even spoke one word that suggested his lightness. His parents spent years developing dark spells to change the colour of his eyes and other small physical indicators. The whole thing was exhausting for both Sarawat and his family but they loved each other nonetheless. Most of DemonKind did not believe in love but Sarawat’s parents loved him and loved each other which is likely what made them sympathetic to his existence in their world.

Sarawat loved his parents more than anything and even though they had offered to aid in his escape back to the AngelWorld many times, he insisted that he would remain where he was, with his family. His parents had attempted many times to conjure the memory of Sarawat’s path but no matter how hard they pushed, it was all darkness to him as if someone had stolen away his memories before his arrival in the DemonWorld.

When Sarawat first ventured out beyond the confines of his home, he was terrified but also fascinated. He quickly became enthralled by every inch of the DemonWorld in all its grotesque beauty. Everything was so dark and repulsive and despite his true origin, he felt himself bizarrely drawn to everything that surrounded him. Now, his curiosity did not make it easier fro Sarawat to understand Demons or to pass for one without constantly concentrating on how he held himself and how he acted, especially around Demons his own age. They seemed to be the most observant of how different he was so despite wanting desperately to connect with others his age, Sarawat stayed away from his peers in fear that they might discover who he really was.

Instead, he threw himself into quiet observation of DemonKind. He was always learning and taking in new ways of being a true embodiment of the Darkness. He employed what he learned in his behaviour and even managed to change some of his own thought patterns to a point where his parents started to ask him if he was all right whenever he returned home.

The value that stuck the most was Demons hatred of AngelKind. Sarawat listened to lecture upon lecture about the danger and audacity of his own kind when he eavesdropped upon conversations on the street, so much so that he started to believe in it as well. Over time, the self-loathing took over his every thought until, one day, he almost turned himself in to the High Demon Guard.

Thankfully, his parents intercepted him and stopped him from following through with his plan. They reminded him of how unique of a position he was in as an Angel amongst Demons and guided him back to his senses. As ‘Allies’ they believed that Sarawat’s presence in the DemonWorld was no mistake and was some sort of sign that, one day, Angel and DemoKind might live in some sort of harmony or, at least, better understanding. It was his love for his parents that reminded Sarawat to not be ashamed of who he was, but instead, think of himself as having a unique perspective as a source of light in the world full of dark.

Sarawat was wandering through the streets one day when he spotted a Demon around his age that was kicking another Demon to a pulp. Every part of Sarawat knew to keep walking as this was a normal sight in the DemonWorld and just how conflicts were settled. In any argument amongst Demons, the more blood that was shed, the better.

But something was calling to him about this particular fight that he could not ignore. There was a driving force at Sarawat’s very core that propelled him toward the two Demons.

“Enough.”

In one word, Sarawat changed everything.

The Demon that was the Attacker turned swiftly to face Sarawat, his red eyes flashing in complete fury. Sarawat should have run away then and there but instead, he stood his ground and glared at the Demon before him and made it clear that he was not going anywhere until the fight dissipated. He was actively going against everything he had learned and everything that his parents had taught him to protect his secret but something urged him on.

“What are you doing, you idiot?” The Demon on the ground sputtered, even though he was the one covered practically head to toe in his own blood.

The brightness that was pulsing through Sarawat’s veins was the reminder that he was very much an Angel. He had to keep his Good thoughts at bay and remind himself that he was still very much in the DemonWorld and therefore had to handle this as a Demon would.

Sarawat pulled his hand back and punched the Attacker directly in the nose. Crimson sprayed everywhere and Sarawat felt pain explode across his knuckles. Never in his life had he intentionally hurt another being and he hoped suddenly that this would be his last. He had needed to do certain things to pass as a Demon but outside of those times, he had avoided such things at all cost.

The Attacker was reeling from the punch and when he finally recovered, he charged at Sarawat with full force. Sarawat took a deep breath and a power seemed to suddenly emanate from inside of him. When the Attacker was only inches away from him, Sarawat lifted a leg and landed a kick to the Attacker’s stomach that sent him flying. Sarawat watched in awe as the Attacker collapsed into a heap of unconsciousness, likely due to the severe force with which he had been hit.

Sarawat could only celebrate his victory for so long as he heard some rummaging behind him before a voice muttered, “What. Are You.”

Twisting around, he saw the Demon that was on the other side of the attack struggling to get to his feet. Sarawat rushed toward the stranger to try to help him up but the Demon jerked away from him violently.

“Stay away from me.”

Sarawat instantly took a step backward. He could never take back what he had done but, for some reason, it felt worth it. The Demon in front of him was staring at him as if he was some sort of Monster which Sarawat found amusing considering they lived in the DemonWorld. What Sarawat did not expect to see, though, which made him re-consider his actions was the fear that was in the Demon’s eyes.

“I-I’m sorry.” Sarawat muttered before racing off toward his home.

The Demon was left behind, covered in acrid blood and wondering what the hell he had just witnessed and feeling beyond ashamed of being ‘saved’ by some sideways stranger. Demons did not intervene when pain was being inflicted, it was so beyond their nature that it confounded the Demon to no end. This Demon’s name was Tine and from that day, Tine vowed to seek revenge upon the sad excuse for a Demon that had stopped the fight that day.

For weeks, Tine searched and searched for the Demon but found no evidence of his existence. It was not until one day the High Guard called a mandatory gathering for Demons of the age of eighteen that Tine saw the Demon again. The announcement was to recruit all Demons that were of proper age for Battle Training as there were rumours stirring that a battle with AngelKind was on the horizon. All recruits were called one by one to receive a scroll with information about their future training. They were each called by name which is how Tine learned of the sideways Demon’s name.

“Sarawat.”

Tine watched in horror as the Demon approached the Guard to receive his scroll. A fiery hatred lit inside of Tine as he gazed upon the one who had intervened in his attack. He vowed to himself to invoke his revenge as soon as they both arrived at training together but Tine would bode him time to ensure the proper way of disposing of his enemy.

Weeks passed and the DemonYouth were called to training. The training facility housed small sleep quarters, communal lunch halls, and weapon rooms which contents made Tine drool and Sarawat shiver. As soon as Tine spotted Sarawat amongst the recruits, he began to study his enemy from afar, being sure to keep enough distance so that Sarawat did not recognize him from their initial interaction.

Over time, Tine noticed more and more microbehaviors of Sarawat that indicated that something was off about the Demon. Tine could see right through him. He saw that Sarawat didn’t belong in the DemonWorld despite the facade that Sarawat put on. The hatred he felt toward the imposter made his blood boil. Tine wanted to expose Sarawat for the fake that he was but he needed time to gather the evidence he needed to ensure that no one would question the validity of the accusation.

But to do this, Tine had to get close to Sarawat which was a dilemma in itself as Sarawat isolated himself likely in an effort to remain out of other’s scrutiny. Sarawat thought he could slip under the radar but Tine would not let him get away with it…

[keelywolfe]

FIC: Beneath an Aurora Sky ch. 15

Summary: The South Pole Station is equipped for research and Edge has always made sure things run smoothly for the inhabitants. His charges are meant to follow his rules and regulations, and in turn, he makes sure they survive in the arctic temperatures. It takes plenty of hard work and determination and Edge, along with his crew, can handle both.

He wasn’t counting on one of the newest researchers. He wasn’t expecting Rus.

Tags: Spicyhoney, First Time, Arctic AU, Hurt/Comfort

~~*~~

Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three | Chapter Four

Chapter Five | Chapter Six | Chapter Seven | Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine | Chapter Ten | Chapter Eleven | Chapter Twelve

Chapter 13 | Chapter 14

~~*~~

Read Chapter 15 on AO3

or

Read it here!

~~*~~

Edge spent the rest of the day in his quarters, not even venturing out for meals which would have earned anyone else a firm scolding. Perhaps it was childish of him, but right then he didn’t want to see Red or Undyne, and Rus didn’t deserve having to see him.

He settled for ration bars and followed his schedule as best he could, approving requests from the scientists to return to the outer research stations now that the storms had passed. He escaped briefly to work out in the greenhouse, striving for and failing the normal soothing that it brought, but otherwise remained in his quarters.

That day there wasn’t so much as a knock on his door. Red and Undyne knew him well enough to let him be and Alphys was certainly wise enough to know if she came, he’d end up comforting her.

The next morning, he forced himself to set aside his lingering resentment. He had a job to do and it wouldn’t be done by hiding away.

Rus wasn’t at breakfast. Edge wasn't surprised.

As an added bonus to his misery, no one else offered him a greeting as he sat at the table. That easy, unusual camaraderie between them and the scientists was gone, leaving only distance, and the span of the table between them may as well have been as wide as the continent. Despite whatever scorn Undyne often expressed about their common sense, none of them were fools. Gossip traveled fast and they’d obviously deduced something went wrong between him and Rus, and the researchers seemed to be standing by their own despite Rus being a Monster.

Edge didn’t blame them. No wonder he was only suited to live at the ends of the Earth. He couldn’t manage a normal relationship for two days.

He sat next to his brother and couldn’t help the bitterly amused thought that he had fallen from hero to outcast in the span of less than twenty-four hours. His own personal Paradise Lost. Red’s sockets were concealed by his sunglasses, but from his lowered head, his own guilt was still thoroughly consuming him. He would have to wade through on his own for now; Edge couldn’t blame him for his reaction, but forgiveness would have to be later.

Undyne was not present, likely taking her meals with Alphys, and their resident engineer was the one worthy of concern. None of this was her fault, but she’d surely been dragged in nonetheless. He made a mental note to check in with her, if only to reassure her that he didn’t blame her for any of this. The blame was his own and Edge would be keeping it.

Breakfast was already laid out, but before Edge could reach for any of the platters on the table, a plate landed in front of him with a clatter. Loaded with burnt toast and runny eggs, half of it falling off from the force of the throw.

Edge looked up to see Bonnie glaring down at him, her scarred face twisted with anger. Ah. It seemed that it wasn’t only the researchers who’d sided with Rus.

Next to him, Red started signing indignantly and Edge put out a hand, stopping him. "Don't."

He picked up the toast and bit into it, and the charred flavor on his tongue was like the taste of failure. He ate every bite methodically, scraping his plate for the last oversalted dregs. There were worse meals in his past and if Bonnie needed a target for her wrath, he would accept his due.

As he was carrying his cleaned plate to the dish rack, the kitchen door opened again, Bonnie carrying another tray out with the door swinging shut behind her. The meal on that was fit for a King of Monsters, fluffy pancakes drizzled with honey, Rus’s favorite, along with crisp bacon, golden yolks of eggs over easy, and a bowl of berries, fresh from the greenhouse.

None of the scientists still lingering offered a single indignant word about that indulgent feast and neither did Edge. Strictly speaking, meals weren’t supposed to be taken in private rooms unless there were extenuating circumstances. It seemed the entire station was deciding that this qualified. Edge only hoped Rus was in enough of an appetite to eat it.

Bonnie went through the hallway door with a bang and Edge turned back to the table to discover his brother vanished in the time it took him to wash his plate. He sighed and shook his head, heading back out.

Today seemed like a perfect day to work on repairs at one of the outskirt checkpoints, a never ending task, particularly after a storm. Edge logged himself at one that Rus never went to and headed out. It would be fair to Rus to try to avoid him, if that was what he wanted, and Edge would make sure his schedule was very visible. It wasn’t normal protocol, but if Rus didn’t want to see him until he left the station, Edge would make it easy for him and if he did…

Edge extinguished that hopeful thought before it could form.

The vehicle garage was empty, his brother nowhere in sight. If Edge was making himself scarce to Rus, then it seemed Red was doing the same to him. He sighed inwardly. This one rock thrown in their smooth pond was casting ripples that would last for some time yet. He’d give Red a few days and then corner him, if he had to.

There was no question he would forgive his brother. Edge couldn’t even be properly angry with him. He knew better than anyone what Red suffered through to earn his distrust of any of the Monster royalty, the cracks still littering his skull spoke volumes, and he could hardly blame Red when his reaction was no better. A piece of paper and a handful of questions was all it took for him to cast Rus into doubt.

Unbidden, memory came to him, of Rus’s smiles, that real smile he offered so shyly. Of the expression of purest wonder the first time he saw the aurora, of the way he cuddle in close as he slept, clinging with all his limbs as if afraid of being left alone—

Edge pushed that aside. He had work to do and that would last him far longer than any idle thoughts.

He gathered the equipment he would need and signed out a snowmobile, heading out to the furthest checkpoint.

It took him the better part of the day to clear the accumulated snow from the antennas, check over the solar cells and calibrate the equipment. By the time Edge headed back to the station, he was exhausted and bone-chilled despite his outdoor gear.

Careless of him, he knew better than to stay out too long. Monsters could handle the lower temperatures better than Humans, but eventually even they would succumb. The ride back only made it worse and he regretted not choosing a SnoCat for the journey, even if it would have taken twice as long. By the time he returned to the vehicle shed, he was shivering so hard he could hear the rattle of his bones over the roar of the engine.

Edge hastily signed the snowmobile back in and headed inside, clumsily stripping off his gear with numbed phalanges. The ache that came as they warmed was enough to make him hiss, but it was a pain was earned through stupidity, one he hadn’t felt since their first month here. Perhaps it was best things ended as they did, Edge thought sourly, he’d been off balance since Rus got off the ship. He needed to get his head on straight before someone got hurt.

He ignored the voice in the back of his skull slyly pointing out that someone was already hurt and headed towards his room to recklessly waste a shower token before dinner. The cold wouldn’t kill him, but a little comfort before facing those silent, accusing faces in the dining hall again would be a kindness.

As he went down the walkway to the living quarters, Edge heard raised voices from around the corner. The words themselves stilled him as much as his brother’s loud voice declaring, “look, i just want to talk, fashion victim.”

“my name is rus.” Edge closed his sockets, pained. Never had he sounded so cold, even that awkward moment they’d first met.

His brother went on, doggedly, “rus. you’re right, i get it. rus. i’m sorry, okay? i’m sorry. look, it’s not an excuse but we’ve had people here before who—“

Rus interrupted, his cool voice tight with underlying anger, “you’re right, it’s not an excuse. all you had to do was actually talk to me. woulda taken two minutes. thanks to you, i spent two hours straightening my notes after your little room search. i had to recalibrate all my equipment, since i guess none of my shit is important enough to worry about, not like yours is. you’ve all wasted enough of my time, now if you’ll excuse me...hey! let go!”

“that ain’t his fault, it was all me, all of it, wouldja just listen--”

Edge hurried around the corner to see Red gripping Rus’s wrist even as he struggled furiously to pull free.

“Red, let him go.”

They both jerked, two sets of eye lights flying over to him. It was his first sight of Rus since seeing him run away in tears and Edge’s soul lurched painfully. He was wearing the worn orange hoodie that hadn’t made an appearance since his first day here, the heavy sweatpants rather than the thermals Edge had given him. He looked tired, heavy shadows beneath his sockets, and Edge ached to think of the wasted energy, trying to catch up on his work. He hadn’t even considered what damage was done by going through his things, all the effort Rus would need to go through simply to continue his research. He couldn’t imagine how far behind Rus might be now, perhaps unable to complete in research in time.

If Rus needed to stay longer to finish, Edge would pay for it out of his own salary. Though he wasn’t sure Rus would welcome the chance, thesis or not. He might very well be the first person on the boat.

Red was still holding on, hard enough for bone to scrape. His sunglasses were on the floor, another pair broken, and his eye lights were blazing, flared crimson. That was a sight Edge hadn’t seen for a very long time and he held out his hands to his brother placatingly.

“That’s enough,” Edge told him, low. “Let him be.”

“no, it ain’t!” Red burst out, “it ain’t! it was my fault, all right?” He looked at Rus wildly, who only looked back stonily, still trying to twist away. “i put the bug in his head that you were up to something and i was wrong. i know my bro, i know he has trust issues! i shoulda checked more careful, i shoulda--”

“Red,” Edge broke in, gently. “Brother. Please. Let him go.”

The feral light in Red’s sockets dimmed, fading to their normal soft crimson glow. Slowly, reluctantly, his grip loosened, and the second he could, Rus wrenched away, stumbling back and clutching his wrist to his chest. His mouth worked, his eye lights darting between them, but finally Rus turned and walked quickly away. Edge watched him go until he turned a corner, out of sight.

Red only slumped back, sliding down the wall to the floor. He rested his forehead on his updrawn knees, wracked with brief, jolting quivers. Edge crouched next to him, not touching, only there if his brother needed him.

He waited until those intermittent shivers eased, then said, softly, “You need to leave him alone."

“i can’t.” Red’s voice was muffled into his knees, raw and cracked. “i can’t, boss. you were happy for the first time in ages and i ruined it."

“That’s not true,” Edge began. He might as well have saved his breath, Red only shuddered and went on.

“wasn’t your fault, it wasn’t! he don’t get it, he don’t know what you’ve been through, what we have!”

Edge laid a cautious hand on Red’s shoulder. His brother lifted his head, looking at him miserably. His knitted cap was askew, showing the first branching crack at the front of his skull and with gentle patience, Edge adjusted his hat to cover it again. Quietly, he asked, “And you know what he’s been through?”

Silence. He didn’t know what Red was thinking about, but Edge couldn’t help recalling Rus’s expression in the Rec room that night he watched Edge spar with Undyne. The sudden fear when she called for him to take her place.

Red looked away, eye lights on the floor as he swallowed heavily and whispered, “no.”

Edge nodded. “Neither do I. So, please, leave him alone. Let him do his work. He’ll be gone in a few weeks, anyway. Will you do that for me?”

The phrasing needed to be careful with Red, Edge knew, he excelled at crawling through loopholes to dig into whatever he found on the other side. This time Red only nodded, heaving himself to his feet.

“m’sorry, bro. fer everythin’” Red mumbled, shoes shuffling against the floor as he went the opposite way as Rus and rounded the corner.

Edge went to his room to take his own advice. Stood beneath the steaming hot water, letting it pour over him. There was nothing but his warming bones, the heavy patter of water against the walls of the shower stall. He very nearly used another token, forced himself not to be quite that wasteful as he’d regret it the next week, and stepped out into the cooler air to dry off.

He was barely dressed when there was a knock on his door. The temptation to ignore it was shameful. His duties to the other researchers had not lessened despite his personal issues. If they needed him enough to search him out, they deserved a chance to be heard out, even if it ended in a rebuke from him to submit all requests in writing.

When he opened the door, however, the last person he expected was standing there.

“Rus?” He didn’t dare hope and still, his soul sank a little when Rus only held out a sheaf of papers.

“thought you might want to see this,” Rus said tersely. He stuck his hands into pockets the moment Edge took the papers.

They were still warm, fresh from the printer and Edge looked down at the pages in confusion, “What’s this?”

“my thesis, since you’re all so interested. but it doesn't even matter what it says, because what it tells you is i'm a fucking astronomer. which the information packet i submitted should’ve already told you."

“Observing the Progression of an Active Galaxy Nuclei Through Fiber-Optic Spectroscopy,“ Edge read slowly. Such a dry title, it didn’t feel like Rus. Or perhaps it did, his lack of knowledge about Rus was where their problems began. “You’re studying galaxies?”

Rus’s mouth twisted. “something like that. i’ve already taken readings from the equator. just needed to get them from one of the poles to finish up.”

“This was what you were keeping a secret.”

“i wasn’t keeping it a secret!” Rus snapped. “or yeah, okay, i was, but it was just a tease, for fuck’s sake! because you’d think i was so fucking interesting if you knew what i’m studying, right?”

“Rus-“ But Rus wasn’t finished.

"do you even know how hard it was for me to get here?” he asked, low, “i was trying for scott station before i realized there was no way they'd let me in. tried a few others, but it was always more of the same. plenty of excuses but none of them wanted to admit it was because i was a monster. i got tired of throwing away money that i don't have for rejections, so i came here even though it cost a shit-ton more and i’d have to bring my own equipment. thought maybe if it was run by monsters…” Rus shuddered, his shoulders hunching. “you want some truths? okay, here's one. red was right about one thing. my sponsor? it's toriel. yeah, the queen. she...she was kind to me and my brothers when we ended up here. got us jobs, gave us a start.

Edge only stood, cooling papers in hand, watching as Rus blinked too hard, almost choking on his words as he said, “when i realized i wasn't getting anywhere with my applications, i swallowed my fucking pride and asked her to help. she pulled some strings to get my application on the roster.”

Though no one else was around, Rus’s voice lowered into a fierce whisper, “and i get that all of you are bitter about what happened, but even you can't convince yourselves that things were better with asgore in charge. after everything, she let you guys go your own way, didn’t she? no one is coming after you, no one sent me up here to spy! tori told me that you were honorable and i trusted her on that."

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Edge couldn’t help saying. Oh, he knew why, look at the way they’d reacted to the mere suspicion that the Embassy was involved. But Rus’s answer was not quite the one he expected.

“i didn't want to tell you because...i’m nobody in this world, okay?” Rus burst out, heaving out a shuddery breath, “my own brothers told me i was wasting my time on this when i could be doing something useful, but this is what i love. i busted my ass working double shifts to get up here to finish, tori said i should warn you, but i couldn't risk it, not after everything.” He lifted his chin, his eye lights gleaming fiercely. “and i’m gonna to do it. i don't need this shit, any of it. you were always a distraction i didn’t need.”

Dimly, Edge wondered how he’d never known it was possible to bleed without ever taking a wound.

"I'm sorry,” he said, softly.

“save it. i told you, i get it, i get why you guys are suspicious but that doesn’t mean i don’t get to be hurt! it doesn’t mean I have to forgive you.”

"It doesn't," Edge agreed quietly. “But I am so very sorry, nonetheless. You never gave me a reason to doubt you.”

Rus's expression crumpled, all his anger like so much tissue, "don’t do that, you can't...just stay away from me.”

He turned, walking quickly away and Edge carefully closed the door, the pages of the thesis still in his hand. Hardly a moment passed before there was another knock on his door. Edge didn’t allow himself to hesitate. He opened it and Rus was there.

He shivered despite his bulky sweatshirt and the emotions fluttering across his face were too quick to interpret, “look...can i come in?”

Edge only held open the door, and when Rus stepped inside, he sighed deeply, nervous fingers clattering lightly against his skull as he swept a hand over his head. “this is all fucked up, i know, but...could you just hold me for a little while?”

Wordlessly, Edge sat on the bed, reaching out to pull Rus into his arms. The pain clenched in his soul from the moment Red came to them yesterday morning loosened, easing as Rus settled against him. It was easier to hold each one other if they lay back, so Edge did, pressing his face into the pale curve of Rus’s skull to breath in the honey-sweet scent he thought he’d lost.

Fear lanced through him as Rus shifted, sitting up, but it was only to pull that oversized sweatshirt over his head. Beneath it he was only wearing a thin thermal shirt, hardly a barrier at all as he settled back against Edge. One hand gripped the front of Edge’s shirt, so tightly he could hear the bone creaking. Edge settled his own hand overtop it, loosening the grip until he could entwine their fingers. They lay together in silence for some time, only their breathing breaking it, until Rus muttered out, “this doesn't mean i forgive you."

No. Broken trust was as difficult to heal as the cracks across his brother's skull.

But it was a start.

tbc

[wonderlustlucas]

greatest gift - park chanyeol

⇢ prompt I cannot form an answer with my lips because I am so focused on yours. ⇢ pairing chanyeol x female reader ⇢ word count 8.7k ⇢ genre fluff & smut ⇢ warnings explicit sexual content, fingering, unprotected bathroom sex!, dirty talk, chan loves mirrors, borderline dom!pcy but it’s pretty soft, friends to lovers, christmas, i kind of got some classic white people at parties vibe but that may just be me, chanyeol in christmas pajamas ⇢ summary After years of being in love with your best friend’s cousin, Park Chanyeol, one certain Christmas party leads to some unbelievable confessions and activities in the bathroom that most certainly would get you on Santa’s naughty list.—christmas party!au ⇢ a/n merry belated christmas!! i apologize for the lateness... anyway. & happy new year!! :) for being almost 9k and for me taking 15 centuries to write i actually wrote this moderately quick so yay i hope u enjoy sex c christmas chanyeol

read the sequel here!

Judging by the blinding streaks of radiant sunlight penetrating through the blinds and the distant hum of activity from the streets outside your window, you have slept way longer than you bargained for. With a mesmerized sigh you soak in the warmth upon waking up, stretch your arms and yawn, shedding the remaining glimpses of a dream.

However, the sound of your phone ringing like an annoyed rattlesnake renders your peacefulness impossible, having awakened you in the first place, and you grudgingly reach blindly for the chiming nuisance.

“Hello?” You mumble into the speaker after kneading your eyes with your knuckles and swiping across the screen, the thick enchantment of sleep still clouding your brain.

“Jesus, ___, did you just wake up?” The obvious bewilderment in none other than Park Seoyun’s tone causes you to laugh groggily, only fueling her astonishment tenfold. “Wow, I’m glad I called when I did then,” she utters.

“Why? What’s up?” You ask, converting the call to speaker mode and resting the device on your chest. “Because you’re supposed to be ready in three hours?” She says, tone laced with annoyance. “You know, the Christmas party? The one you’ve gone to with me every year?”

Oh, yeah.

Ever since you were young, Seoyun has invited you to attend nearly all of her family’s gatherings throughout the years, a tradition that began as a nonchalant need of a friend’s company to survive the dreadful hours spent with family and friends she had no real interest in seeing.

Sad, how that works.

Of course, you would not complain, considering over the years you have bonded with her family just as much as your own.

“Pfft, of course,” you laugh in a weak attempt to blow off your forgetfulness, “I totally remembered. I’m on top of the game right now, Sunny. Nothing to worry about.”

“Mm,” she hums in faux belief, you can practically see her eyeroll, “Chanyeol asked if you were coming.”

Chanyeol? Park Chanyeol? Park fuck-me-in-every-way-known-and-unknown-to-man Chanyeol?

“Of course he did,” you scoff, trying to play off the way your heartbeat rapidly picks up at the thought of him asking whether you would be there as if you do not care, “I’ve only been to every one of your parties for like, the past fifteen years.”

Seoyun laughs. “Anyway, I’ll be over around five. Try not to take too long just so you can impress your boyfriend.”

“He’s not my boyfriend!” You shout in protest. At the silence that follows you realize she has already hung up. Bitch, you sigh, rolling over to check the time, sheets rustling loudly in your ears. The 2:00 pm blinking back at you from your digital clock takes a few moments to process through your brain before you realize just how badly you overslept and how much your sleep schedule is fucked.

Still, this cannot take the stupefied grin off your face.

It takes everything within you to kickstart your nerves into working, just some cereal and you’ll be on your way, you tell yourself, finally sweeping the ruffled blankets elsewhere and abandoning the warmth of bed. Walking out of the room, you make your way into the kitchen and wince at the momentarily blinding light bouncing off the windows before continuing on to unroll the bag of Honey Bunches of Oats and pour a hefty serving into a bowl, the scratching and ruffling of plastic filling the otherwise silent apartment.

Because even after eating, watching an episode of iCarly, and spending an unnecessarily prolonged time in the shower to shave, the thoughts racing through your brain are of one person and one person only: none other than Chanyeol.

Seoyun claims that it did not take her long to recognize your developing crush on her cousin, considering she had been shipping the two of you the second you told her that you thought he was cute in sixth grade.

According to her, the slaughter that your heart (and underwear, as you got older) endured every time you came twenty feet of the panty-dropping man was excruciatingly obvious and she forced the confession out of you like a fisherman casting mercilessly. Whether it was the effects of alcohol or solely the accumulation of being caught and needing to reveal everything to your best friend, you spilled everything to Seoyun after your first high school party without a hint of hesitation or embarrassment because let’s be real, there’s absolutely nothing shameful about being attracted to such a man.

Nonetheless, it was still terribly awkward. Not only is he Seoyun’s cousin, but Chanyeol has also always been a step ahead, considering he is three years older.

For example, years ago when he was starting university and you were only a junior in high school, you could have sworn that he was blatantly flirting with you over text only hours before he posted a picture with some gorgeous senior perched prettily on his lap. You mopped around for hours, and Seoyun’s only form of consolidation was, “Don’t worry. He’s a hoe.”

As if that helped.

Even before that, years prior when you were in eighth grade and he was a sophomore, you had joined Seoyun on her large family vacation for the first time. During movie night, you were curled up dangerously close to his chest and could not remember any of the horror film the following day considering you had prayed the entire time that he could not hear how your heart did somersaults in your chest or why your lower stomach squirmed every time his breath fanned against your neck. Weeks later, you cried yourself to sleep when you found out he had a new girlfriend, knowing it was way too good to be true for him to share your feelings when you were in middle school.

After all, you were just a ‘little sister’ to him.

Or, when the same event occurred only a few months ago, while you, Seoyun, and the rest of her cousins snuggled up to watch the new Jurassic World instead of going out for the third night in a row, Chanyeol eagerly leaped to sit beside you and, as a result of his dramatic begging, you became his pillow and slept through the night with his arms wrapped snuggly around your waist and his legs entangled with your own.

It would not have been so bad if you did not wake up with a boner pressing against your back.

Still, this excludes the random ab pictures sent over SnapChat if a conversation turned a certain direction, the videos of him playing a new song he would text, the intense checking-out, the questionable touches, the heart-stopping compliments, and so, so much more that has transpired over the years. And yet, the realization that hurts the most is not simply an attraction to a gorgeous man just out of reach, it is that you know that you love him.

If it was not for the years and personal time spent with him, you would have never developed such a raw emotion for Chanyeol. It would have never grown past a basic attraction. But no—his baby face mismatched with his deep voice, his bright personality that can lift the spirit of any room, the somewhat concerning way he still does not know how to handle his general largeness, his effortless ability to make anyone laugh, his unfailing kindness, his ears, his laugh. Oh, the list goes on and on.

The way he oozes natural charm fused with all the times and tiny memories spent together made for a solemn night several years ago where you had the incomprehensible realization that your universe starts and ends with Park Chanyeol.

Ever since they retired and moved into a smaller living space, Seoyun’s grandparents have held every holiday gathering in the common room of their apartment building. It’s convenient, free of charge, and, as a result of their first-class living, luxurious and very, very large.

After setting foot into the building’s first floor through the immaculately flawless glass doors and gawking at the pristine white marble floors, guests make their way to the common room just past the receptionist’s desk, where a woman sits in front of a computer, waiting drearily for her shift to end. The common room is like a perfect magazine cover with its linen white curtains, the kind of white untouched by hands and devoid of dust.

Upon entering said room, to the left is a fairly open space accessible for the Pollyanna gifts—aka where all the ladies in their mid-forties and fifties flock around like seagulls to discuss their favorite candle scents for the winter season.

To the right of this is a lounging area with a sofa, two loveseats, a long glass coffee table in the middle, and a fireplace against the wall. Nothing more, nothing less. Besides the facts that the leather of the couches and fur pillows appear to be real and that the fireplace’s mantel seems to contain enough expensive knickknacks to pay off student loans.

Past this is where the party really begins. Also known as the dining tables. Two huge mahogany tables with matching chairs take up most of the bright room’s space, left without a tablecloth and daring guests to ruin the perfectly varnished shine. Two tall, gold candelabras command attention from the center of each table, holding smooth white candles that go without being lit each year. To the right of the tables is a grand piano, shiny and pitch black against the white marble floors and white walls and waiting to be played. No one ever plays.

The far end of the common room is another lounging area, this one with an enormous television instead of an extravagant fireplace mantel. Next to this is the entrance to a small kitchen for the party to store and serve food “buffet style,” if so desired. Stainless steel appliances seemingly untouched by hands, brick walls painted white, and the same marble floor throughout the entire floor. Out of the kitchen, a hallway with two bathrooms leads back to the lobby.

Having been here so many times, walking in with Seoyun at your side is no problem. Even greeting all her family and their friends, albeit your awkwardness when it comes to being social, is not a problem. Trying to silence the animalistic sounds of your growling stomach until dinner is ready is also, surprise, ultimately not a problem.

Now, what is a problem, something that started as a minor concern during the first ten minutes after arriving but now consumes you alive, is that after two and a half fucking hours, Chanyeol has not spoken to you once.

At first, you thought he may have just not seen you. But after making eye contact for even a split second one too many times within the first hour, you know he had to of seen you. Even when you and Seoyun went over to stand by him and two more of her older cousins, he still refused to say a word. So now, as you sit alone on the leather sofa, angry, hurt, and trying to ignore a woman talking much too loudly about her new duvets while Seoyun is off doing God knows what, you have no other option but to just look around the luxurious room in order to occupy your thoughts in some way that does not end up going back to Chanyeol.

Deciding on the richly carved mantel of the fireplace just in front of you, you start from the exquisite plate-glass clock in the middle and scan to the right: a silver drinking-cup, a small oval portrait of a young woman framed in gold, and a crystal vase filled with white tulips. And then to the left: two dainty china figures of a lamb and a shepherd, a porcelain, heart-shaped box, a blue cloisonné pitcher, and several other bisque porcelain figures—a dachshund, a cat and kittens, and an angel.

Just as you are getting to the flower pots sparsely placed throughout the room, a flimsy box is suddenly flung onto your lap. When you look up, completely zapped out of your daze, Seoyun flops down beside you with a grimace.

“Pajama time,” she sighs, lifting the lid of her own box and pulling out the fuzzy Christmas top, “perhaps I’ll end my life now.”

Laughing, you do the same, amused and not as disappointed as you thought you would be when you lift the plain red long-sleeve shirt and plaid red and white pajama bottoms. “Hopefully it’ll be quick this year.”

One of Seoyun’s family Christmas traditions you have grown accustomed to is her grandmother buying all the children pajamas and forcing them into one big family photo, whether you are actually family or not. What many of you did not realize was that “children” simply meant the youngest generation.

So now, ranging between the age of two and twenty-eight, nearly half of the party’s guests have to stop what they are doing and change for the picture.

“I hope so, too,” she mutters, scowling as she watches a wave of guests head for the bathrooms, “come on. There’s a closet in the computer room where we could get changed.”

Nodding, you follow Seoyun to the hallway and head for the conveniently unoccupied computer room and shut yourselves in the dark closet before changing. “Are you okay? You’ve been awfully quiet,” she suddenly springs on you, effortlessly popping the bubble you have secluded yourself in. “What? No, I’m fine. Just tired… I guess,” you answer, laughing shakily as you pull the pajama bottoms up your legs. They are terribly snug around your butt.

Past the darkness speckling your vision, you can still see Seoyun glaring at you, seeing right through your bullshit. You take in a deep breath of the stale air.

“Just… I don’t know. I sound like a baby. Chanyeol has not said one word to me since we’ve been here,” you say, pushing your arms through the sleeves of the red shirt, “and I don’t know why, or if I did anything, or if he’s just being a dick. I have no clue.”

Seoyun exhales loudly, planting her hands firmly on her hips before, “Listen, I don’t know what is up with him, either. I know it’ll be hard, but don’t let him get to you. Just ignore him too, stop looking at him so he sees you don’t give a shit about him.”

“But I do give a shit,” you grumble, jutting your bottom lip out and staring at your feet.

“Well, today you don’t. Don’t let him win, okay? Show him you could care less,” she preaches, reaching out to pull you into a hug and you graciously take it. “Thanks. I’ll try,” you mumble into her neck, squeezing her tightly before stepping back and collecting your clothes.

“Ready for this picture?”

“I was born ready.”

You were not, in fact, ready. For as soon as you left the closet and met up with every other person dressed in ridiculous pajamas at the lobby, Chanyeol came sauntering in looking like he owned the damn place.

Even in Christmas pajamas, he still managed to look like a god.

Stop looking, you scolded yourself when he glanced over. And you did, turning away from where he stood and moving to the opposite side of the group for the twenty minutes it took until everyone was there for the picture. Huddling over one of Seoyun’s younger cousins, you smiled until your jaw was numb as every adult fumbled with their cell phone, proud that you managed to forget Chanyeol.

So, when you and Seoyun end up splitting up in search of another place to change since a young janitor had taken to cleaning the computer room, you were rather shocked to see that the only person in line for the bathroom was you. Perhaps everyone had gone home after the infamous picture.

But what is even more shocking is to watch disbelievingly as Park Chanyeol strolls towards you from the end of the hallway as you lean against the wall opposite of the women’s bathroom, waiting for whoever is inside to open the door. His entire walk you glare at him coldly, pulse quickly picking up as he gets closer.

After what seems like the walk to Calvary, he’s finally beside you.

“___,” he greets with an innocent smile, leaning on the wall with you and you wince, quickly looking away from him. From what you can see from your peripheral vision, he’s looking at you, yet you refuse to look back. There is simply no shot that you would so easily brush off the fact he has ignored you the past few hours, no matter how much you ache to.

“Aw, what?” Chanyeol whines after processing your lack of acknowledgment. He shifts closer, bare arm brushing yours and you cannot fight your shiver. So quickly you are putty in his hands. “Mad that I didn’t talk to you today?”

Yes. Biting your tongue to keep back the sarcasm that bubbles like acid at the back of your throat, you only grace him with an icy glance before crossing your arms and returning your gaze to the door across from where you stand. “Don’t be like that,” he grumbles, voice unacceptably low as he stoops down to rest his chin on your shoulder. Brain on overdrive at his proximity, you finally look at him with his big puppy eyes and sigh, “Say you’re sorry.”

“You’re sorry,” he smirks, eyes bright with triumph. What a child.

The hot annoyance burning its way through your veins only intensifies and you shrug his head off your shoulder, sidestepping further away and praying for whoever is occupying the restroom to hurry their ass up. When a quiet protest slips past his lips, you look over at him, head pounding because why does he have to be such a dick and why does he look so good?

You simply cannot fight it, the way your gaze mindlessly travels up his body, albeit the dumb Christmas pajamas that just barely stretch over his build, scanning over the proportions of his frame, lingering on how taut the white tee-shirt is against the expanse of his shoulders and chest, and finally struggling to settle back onto his face. When you meet Chanyeol’s eyes, you know he knows, for you were far from nonchalant.

When a noise analogous to a growl resounds from his throat, you are momentarily blindsided, seeing stars, as this was the last reaction you expected and yet, your nausea only triples when he takes two long strides to stand beside you. No—not beside you. In the blink of an eye Chanyeol is against you, hands reaching for your waist and pushing you back with enough force that a gasp escapes you upon impact with the wall. Or, maybe that was simply the shock from it all.

“You know,” Chanyeol mutters, voice so dangerously deep your stomach churns, “I did that on purpose. I like watching how you react to me.”

“Excuse me?” You laugh, sounding way more out of breath than you would like to as you stare wide-eyed at him, fear of the unexpected rooted deep in your stomach. Your mind simply cannot process his words or understand why he takes your change of clothes bunched up in your fist and drops it on the floor with his own. “You heard me,” he smirks, hands gliding lower, lower, lower, oh, you find purchase gripping his biceps when his fingers dare to press into the flesh of your ass, “I can read you like a book. Sometimes,” he pauses, tongue darting out to wet his lips, “I feel like I know you better than you know yourself.”

Every ounce of breath seems to be stolen from your lungs, floating in the air as he speaks, you cannot seem to think with him like this and the acceptance that you are simply a piece in his game of chess angers the sensible part of you. “That sounds like manipulation to me,” you finally say, cocking your head to the side and staring up at him with a certain hardness in your gaze. “Mm,” he hums, seemingly pondering for a moment before ducking down to press his lips under your jaw, placing a sloppy kiss to the tender skin before, “like I said, I enjoy watching. You can’t catch my hints to save your life, so I had to switch things up.”

Your mind is in no shape to process his words with his mouth on your throat, so quickly he tarnishes the skin there, bruising with bright magentas and deep violets and God, what about hints? Squeezing your eyes shut, you cannot help but wonder if this is it—the straw that breaks the camel’s back, shatters the vase and shakes the earth—whether you are stuck in some disturbingly unfair dream or if this is all happening because he somehow feels the same.

“You’re quiet again,” Chanyeol grunts, deserting your throat to meet your gaze and the curiosity softening his features has you weak in the knees, “what are you thinking?”

You swallow, overwhelmed, studying the hesitance that crosses his beautiful face before breathing, “I really can’t think when the only thing I’m focused on is your lips.”

That’s it. The chord inside him finally snaps and Chanyeol closes the distance, silencing the heavy breaths that leave your lips with his own. Twelve years still were not enough to prepare either of you for this moment. A sensation akin to the explosion of fireworks, kissing Chanyeol has a burst of vivid, fizzing sparks coursing through your veins and coloring your insides. The urgency of the kiss—opening his mouth with yours, his hands returning to knead your ass and pull you closer, your hands wrapping into his shirt—translates into a sort of unspoken mutual understanding that settles into the core of your heart, affirming that this should have happened a long time ago.

Chanyeol breaks away to trail his lips lower than before and your whimper of protest at the loss of just kissing him is quickly cut off with a gasp when he licks the indent of your collarbone, working back up your neck to slide over your jaw. When he pauses at the side of your mouth to offer you some recovery time and raises his eyes to meet yours, you gather the courage to tenderly cup his face in your hands and plant a softer kiss on his lips. In response he exhales in relief, hugging his arms around your waist and pulling you impossibly closer as his tongue finds its way working against your own once more.

Certainly, you must have died and gone to heaven to experience such bliss.

Warmth blooming in your chest, your hand slides away from his jaw to the nape of his neck, tugging at the hair there and Chanyeol gasps into the kiss, immediately responding with his lips moving and pressing in such a way that has your head positively swimming. Just like that, you are drowning in warm, heavy air as the dizzy sense of euphoria shifts into desire welling within you when he bites your lower lip, tugging it into his mouth to suck on. “I can’t believe,” he breathes against your lips, breaking away to stare down intensely into your eyes, “this is the first time we’re doing this.”

“In the hallway of your grandpa’s apartment lobby, to boot,” you laugh breathlessly, searching Chanyeol’s face for the emotion hidden beneath the darkening of his stare. You’re somewhere in between losing yourself to his lips roughly tumbling over the apple of your throat and dragging your fingers under his shirt, hands cool against the burning heat of his back, when the bursting open of the bathroom door across from where you stand turns the hot moment to ice. Scrambling to get away from one another, you and Chanyeol start in a frantic series of yelps, kicking limbs, and pat-downs before you urge yourself to glare at whoever occupied the single woman’s restroom for such an excruciatingly long time.

Gaze softening once you recognize that it is one of Seoyun’s distant cousins and her young daughter, you watch with a new wave of embarrassment flushing over you as her eyes flick back and forth between you and Chanyeol, both clearly riled up and panting, before leading her toddler in the opposite direction as she bites against a knowing grin. For a long moment you watch her go, the reality of what just took place sinking to the pit of your stomach and you trace your swollen bottom lip with the pad of your finger, clenching your eyes shut to somehow burn the touch of his lips into your mind forever.

Chanyeol’s loud exhale somewhere besides you cuts your daydreaming off short, and you turn to look at him as the fire in your veins starts to dwindle into ash. “We just,” you start, voice catching in your throat and sounding much weaker than you intended, “what was that?”

Having him off of you gives you unfiltered access to stare at him, pupils blown and his breath coming sharply, and your gaze subconsciously travels down the length of his body in order to engrave the image of how beautiful he looks in this moment onto your brain for eternity until, oh, you finally take notice to the bulge that the thin material of his pajama bottoms do little to hide. Seeing this, you at last register the hot drip of desire between your legs and the way your body trembles with uncontainable want.

“I… I don’t know,” Chanyeol admits, his low, hoarse voice draining any control you had left, “I would like to do it again, though.”

Do it, please, please do it, you want to say, pulse jump-starting at his declaration. Instead, you are rendered speechless, unable to form coherent thoughts, let alone words, with the muffled hum of festive celebration from his family just around the corners. In a sudden act of impromptu bravery, you bundle your clothes—his, too—into your arm from the floor and stretch over to grab his wrist before quickly kicking open the bathroom door and hurrying him inside after you.

“Let me get this straight,” you start once the door clicks shut, voice suddenly booming in the small confines of the bathroom and Chanyeol jerks in surprise when you slam the clothes onto the floor with an ungratifying thump, “what is going on here? Because that was not a normal kiss—that was like… a sicko mode kiss. And I mean, you have to know by now I have the biggest crush on you, no, actually, I’m totally in love with you. So if you’re just doing this to mess with me, then I don’t know wh—"

Overwhelmed but enamored by your quick, almost unintelligible spiel, Chanyeol figures his best bet at shutting you up is returning his hands to your hips to pull you flush against him and latching his lips to yours, capturing your mouth and train of thought in such a deep kiss it sucks all the air out of your lungs. Instantly, your fingers thread through his hair, lost once more to him—his musky fragrance, the sinful way his tongue wraps around yours, the effortless manner he lifts you up onto the marble countertop.

“Can I take this off?” He asks suddenly, breathless as he pulls away, fingers toying the hem of your tee-shirt up your back. Afraid your words would come off as a croak, you only nod, trying to reel yourself in on how oddly polite his question is juxtaposing to the darkness of his hungry eyes. In one quick motion, Chanyeol helps rid you of the garment, tossing it to join your change of clothes on the freezing tiles. Sighing at the sight, he brings his hands to your chest, lost in the way you shiver beneath his featherlight touches tracing the column of your throat, coasting over your collar bones and finally to the swell of your breasts spilling out from the underwhelmingly mediocre beige bra. It’s with yet another surge of bravery and desire do you reach behind you, fumbling to undo the clasps and watching as Chanyeol’s stare turns to something predatory as he soaks it all in.

“That’s just unfair,” he groans, hesitating, for he fears that if he reaches out and touches you this way, you will break under his fingers like a porcelain doll. In the end, he realizes he is being foolish—he knows you’re here to stay—and at last brings himself to stand between your legs. Finally. Your breathing turns heavy when his mouth starts its ravishing once more, nipping and sucking tender marks down your jaw and at the junction of your neck and shoulder. At last, his lips meet your breast and he does not hesitate in taking a bud gently between his teeth, rolling the other into a hard peak between his index finger and thumb. This time you cannot suppress your moan.

“Oh,” you swear, “fuck.”

Smirking against your skin, Chanyeol relishes in the sound, eyes heavy-lidded and blood pumping hotly under his skin as he bites a violet blossom on the mound of flesh before switching sides. “Chanyeol,” you whine, nails digging crescents into his arms when the sparks tingling up and down your spine seek for more. The sound of your voice, so weak, so needy, has his dick twitching against the restraint of his boxers and he growls into your skin before pulling away.

“___,” he starts, voice gruff as his hands come on either side of you, laid flat against the cold marble to cage you in, “I’ve fantasized about this moment for years, and I have to say I never once imagined it would be at our Christmas party.”

He pauses, gently taking your hands in his and helping you off the sink before hurriedly turning around to lock the door. Your heart suddenly seems to be surging electricity through your veins rather than pumping blood. When he steps closer again, he unexpectantly spins you around, hands splayed across your stomach to keep you upright, forcing you to take in the reflection in the mirror.

“On vacation, I’ve imagined waiting until everyone’s left to fuck you in the sand,” he starts slowly. Your eyes almost roll back into your head at the sheer audacity of his words. “Or, at Seoyun’s twenty-first birthday party. You had no idea how badly I wanted to rip that dress off and fuck you against the bar in front of everyone to see.” By now, you are shaking, knees ready to buckle under the weight of his words and yet you cannot find it in yourself to look away from the pink swell of his lips and the words that slip past them.

“I thought you would have caught on this summer when you woke up with my cock digging into your ass,” Chanyeol hums, nuzzling into your neck, “all night I had to keep myself from stealing you away and making that your favorite vacation yet. So tempting, you are.”

You press your legs together and swallow past the dryness of your throat.

“You seem to have forgotten that I’ve been waiting for this since I was like, twelve,” you sigh, his intoxicating touch making it rather hard to breathe, “well, not this. But having you. Being able to love you and… you know. Call you mine.”

“You’ve always had me, though. Always been yours,” he returns quietly, endearingly, and presses a chaste kiss to your shoulder. At this, you take a moment to try and memorize what the mirror reflects: the heavy breathing you share, untamed hair and swollen lips, cheeks over-heated, his hands traveling softly up and down the expanse of your abdomen in an oddly unfitting but appreciated act of gentleness, skin damp with a light sheen of perspiration and the cute curls of his dark bangs contrasting harshly to the heaviness in his eyes.

Washed in a warm glow from the dim overhead lights, you almost look untouchable together.

“It hasn’t always seemed that way,” you say, bitter, for all these years have passed of you hopelessly in love with him, “where we really both that dumb to never see it?”

Chanyeol blinks, understanding, before his grip on your waist tightens and he exhales on your neck once again before, quietly, “Let me prove it?”

His hot whisper against the side of your neck only causes a stronger wave of arousal to suck you in and you’re suddenly weak in the knees, the coil in your core winching tighter. Answering his question with only a miniscule nod, you are hardly able to form a response by the time Chanyeol is tilting your head to face him and melding his mouth to your own once more before nudging you forward, pressing you into the edge of the sink. His hands are quick to tug his shirt over his head and he does not even grace you with enough time to worship his figure as he is already crouching down, reaching around your hips to untie the knot of your pajama bottoms and shimmy them down your legs. An utterly embarrassing whimper leaves your throat when Chanyeol’s fingers hook around the elastic of your panties, yanking them down in an unceremonious rush.

You almost miss the gorgeous that slips past his lips when he rises back to his full height to admire you, licking his lips and surveying you with such a lecherous glint to his eyes that you quite literally feel yourself become wetter. “You okay?” He asks, pressing his chest to your back and growing harder just from watching you stare dumbly back at him with your fucked-out expression and he’s barely even touched you yet, every atom of your being vibrating with need as his hand travels tauntingly slow toward your center.

“M’perfect,” you gasp as he draws a featherlight line up your slit with the pad of his finger, “just perfect.”

“That’s what I like to hear,” Chanyeol purrs in your ear, arm tense as a wire as it balances holding you upright and parting open your folds. Oh God he’s going to be inside me you think just as his middle finger finishes toying at your entrance and finally presses in enough to easily slide in to the knuckle. Your hands scramble to grip the lip of the sink as a moan tears from your throat, a shiver wracking your figure when he effortlessly adds a second finger to add to the delicious stretch.

“You are,” you rasp, squeezing your eyes shut when he takes care to draw a rough circle to your clit, “such an asshole.”

“How so?” Chanyeol chuckles darkly in your ear as you greedily roll into his hand to meet his thrusts and suddenly his shoulders are trembling. His control is chipping away at a much faster rate than he had hoped.

“You’ve kept me waiting—fuck,” you hiss when he dares to dig deeper, “all this time.”

His pace is absolutely agonizing, swirling his fingers as he pulls them out, massaging your clit for only a heartbeat before pressing back inside of you again. “How do you think I feel?” He growls back, ignoring how you whimper and writhe under him as he finally pulls out of you to ruthlessly flick at the sensitive bundle of nerves. “Chanyeol,” you sob quietly, arms trembling violently and knuckles white as you grasp the sink impossibly harder, “ngh, Chanyeol, please.”

“You look so pretty like this,” he sighs, other hand coming up to stroke strands of hair away from your face, “I bet you’d look even prettier with my cock stuffed in you.”

“Fuck, fuck,” you whine, clenching around nothing as the tight coil begins to unravel and you manage to choke out, “if, fuck, if you want that to happen you have—you have to stop.”

“Mm,” Chanyeol contemplates, obsessed with the idea of making you cum like this but also dying to bury himself within your velvet walls, “alright.” Not that he wouldn’t pay up to do both.

Next time.

With the muscles in his arm beginning to grow tired, he finally relents after a particularly brutal flick that leaves your eyes rolling into the back of your head.

Without the sticky press of his body against yours and the relief of his fingers off of your cunt, you are left to shiver again, sucking on your bottom lip viciously to try and recover from the earth-shattering pleasure that still smolders like a forest fire in your core and ignites your nerves. You turn slightly to focus your gaze on Chanyeol as he stares, breathless, at the floor, chest erratically rising and falling and hand glistening as a result of your arousal. Finally, you can appreciate his figure in a different light, mesmerized by every curve and indent of muscle glistening with sweat. It is during this moment of adoration that you decide that Chanyeol’s shoulders are your next favorite thing, second to his ears.

Well, maybe your third, you remind yourself when his length, arching impressively long and thick beneath his pajamas, catches your eye. Ignoring the fragility that has your bones rattling, you cannot help but reach out for him, wrapping your arms around his shoulders and pressing your bare chest to his, breathing out a relieved sigh against his skin. He shivers, and you realize he is just as shaken up as you are no matter how sturdy his hold feels once his arms curl around your waist.

“You said you’re in love with me?” He suddenly asks, voice vulnerable as if he fears you are going to take everything back and desert him. “For as long as I can remember,” you swear honestly, it really has always been him, and lean up to skim your lips along the sharp angle of his jaw. Chanyeol exhales shakily and curls his fingers into your sides when you reach the soft nook under his ear and suck at the skin, proud that you can reciprocate the same effect he has on you.

Laving your tongue over the bite once you are satisfied with the mark, you step back until you can sit on the edge of the marble countertop, heart racing a mile a minute as he loosens the tie of his bottoms just enough so he can drop them to his ankles. “Cute,” you pipe, regarding his Santa-spotted boxers and ignoring the rush of heat to your already drenched core. Grinning at your comment, Chanyeol ultimately shuts you up when he tugs down his last article of clothing, his now unclothed length red and angry when it slaps against his stomach.

“Wow,” you say without remorse, staring only a second more before dragging your gaze up to his eyes, “I knew you had an award-winning dick!”

“You can’t just say that kind of stuff,” Chanyeol chuckles, guiding you to stand before turning you to face the mirror. Then, in a tone lower than you have ever known it, “Are you still on the pill?”

Impressed with how he happened to remember such a minute detail about your life, you offer a tiny nod, suddenly feeling flushed and dizzy all over again because how is this real?

“Thank God,” he says, leaning over your shoulder to kiss you and once more you cannot think or breathe with all the love and adoration loaded into one kiss. After pulling away and pressing a firm hand on your back to further bend you over, Chanyeol groans at the sight of your breasts swaying so enticingly at this angle, but redirects his attention to taking hold of his cock and dragging it along your slick center, coating it in your juices and his precum. You nearly jump at the contact, a shock of electricity darting up your spine at the realization that this is really, truly happening.

You have only just registered him carefully positioning himself to your entrance by the time Chanyeol is rolling his hips forward, slowly dragging against your velvet walls and filling you to the brim. “Oh my God,” you breathe, followed by a series of moans that tumble past your parted lips.

“Fuck me,” Chanyeol groans past gritted teeth, thrusting into you at a slow pace with you clenching so tightly around him. “I am,” you simper, dragging your eyes up from the floor to see his disappointed eye roll as your core slowly but surely loosens around him. “Still rude, even with my dick in you.”

You are keenly aware of Chanyeol leisurely drawing his cock almost completely out of you, nestling just barely within your entrance before slamming back in to draw a high-pitched cry past your open mouth. “Baby, you have to be quiet,” Chanyeol rumbles from above you, voice like thunder in the small bathroom as the powerful, rough tilts and thrusts of his hips ease slower but harder.

The fire in your stomach that had begun to simmer down after his fingers had left you only minutes before suddenly consumes you whole, pleasure washing over you hotly with each thrust of his cock past your slick walls. You’re a panting, mewling mess in no time, euphoria fizzling in your abdomen and shooting up your spine when the hand that is not anchoring you in place dips to brush against your throbbing clit.

“Look at me, baby,” Chanyeol shudders, fucking into you relentlessly, “please look at me when you cum.”

With your fingers growing numb as a result of your iron grip on the sink, you blink away the stars clouding your vision and focus on his face, strands of obsidian hair damp with beads of sweat that trickle down his sideburns, cheeks flushed and glowing rosy, and his soft features struggling to hide the haze sitting over his mind of how incredible you feel as your walls start to tighten around him once more.

“___,” he moans, hands curling into the dips of your waist to rock your body in synch with his drives, “I hope you know I love you more.”

This is all you need to hurl you over the edge. The coil within your core winding tighter and tighter suddenly snaps at his words harmonizing with a particularly hard thrust against your g-spot. For a blissfully long moment, all you see is searing light freckling your vision, body trembling as your orgasm washes over you. Chanyeol moans sharply at the feel of you clenching so impossibly tight around him, throwing his head back and praying to memorize your loud cry.

Ensuring you ride out every second of your climax on his cock, Chanyeol sloppily thrusts into you, chasing after his own high at the sight of you so blissfully fucked-out in the mirror. He quickly follows, coming inside of you with a harsh shudder. Limbs growing weak with pleasure coursing hotly through your veins, you remain in your bent position, eyes widened in adoration as you watch him give one last feeble thrust into your raw cunt to finish out his high.

Then, he draws out of your walls, trails of his pearly cum seeping out with it, and a rush of air escapes your lungs. The moments that follow are peaceful, quiet to catch your breath and not once do you worry that any of what just occurred was a mistake.

When you finally heave one last breath and open your eyes, you spin around to Chanyeol, who leans utterly exhausted against the wall. “Hey,” he smiles innocently when he looks up, all the lust that had darkened his features completely draining away. In its place is his usual soft goofiness. “Hi,” you reply, stepping closer to wrap your arms around his waist.

There is no roughness in this kiss. Instead, it’s deep and longing and reassuring in that this was not a one-time thing.

“If this doesn’t make you my boyfriend, I think I’ll have to end my friendship with Seoyun,” you breathe against his lips before reclining back to meet his eyes. He chuckles, hand dropping to pinch your ass and you yelp, jerking closer to him and away from his hand as he retorts, “This better make me your boyfriend. I don’t know what else I’d have to if it didn’t. I’m all out of ideas.”

“Yah,” you grumble, planting your hands against his chest to push yourself off of him, “or, you could’ve just flat out confessed.”

Chanyeol raises a brow, watching as you clasp your bra back on, “Hey, I’m not the only one who goes without blame. You could have said something sooner, too.”

“Yeah, whatever. We’re both dumb,” you grumble, sitting down to pee while simultaneously pulling your sweater back over your head. You watch on, calmly, naturally, as he dresses himself back to his regular clothes before standing to do the same.

“I don’t want to go back out,” Chanyeol whines, bumping his hip to yours to make room so he can wash his hands with you, “I wanna stay here with you.”

“In the women’s bathroom? Really?” You laugh disbelievingly, running your hands through your hair to somehow not only tame it, but lay it so it covers the love bites higher up on your throat. Groaning at your dumb sense of humor, Chanyeol waits for you to zip up your boots, not even bothering to explain what he meant, before gathering your pajamas with his and cracking open the door to check if the coast is clear.

“Good?” You whisper, clinging to his back. When he nods, you head out into the hallway together, clinging to his side like a koala and barely blinking an eye when his fingers intertwine with yours, his hand snugly enveloping your own. With a different wave of warmth blooming in your chest and up to your cheeks, you yank Chanyeol to the wall just before the corner, smothering his lips with yours and curling his sweater in your fists.

“Are we telling them… or just winging it?” You whisper, drawing back when his tongue threatens to slip past the seam of your lips. Too soon to get lost in his taste again, no matter how sweet he tastes against your lips.

There would be plenty of time for that later, anyway.

“Act natural now, but,” he murmurs, staring down at you with so much marvel weighted in his gaze you feel as if you may implode, “maybe by the end of this damn thing they’ll know.”

“Okay,” you agree, leaning up to peck his top lip one more time before continuing on through the empty kitchen and into the main room, ignoring the faint thrumming coming from your groin. Navigating through the dwindling crowd, you first make a pit stop to grab your cell phone where you left it on a coffee table before seeking out a spot on the sofa. Not even two seconds after sitting down, it dings with notifications.

[9:04 PM] yeol (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧: I can’t believe I can kiss you whenever I want now

[9:04 PM] yeol (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧: I miss you already

[9:04 PM] yeol (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧: even though I can see you rn

Your head snaps up, dying to find him and unable to hide your smile. Once you find him across the room, looking unfairly delicious for someone who just had their dick inside you, he winks. You grin, looking back down when your phone buzzes again.

[9:05 PM] yeol (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧: I want everyone to know ur my wifeyyyy

[9:05 PM] YN: yeol its been like

[9:05 PM] YN: a minute

[9:05 PM] YN: and slow down there, tiger. i need the ring first

[9:05 PM] YN: but don’t worry. they’ll know soon:’)

“___!” Shouts a familiar voice and you jump, scrambling to shut off your phone before searching over the cluster of guests until you find Seoyun waving near the piano. You make your way over, grabbing a bowl of potato chips on the way.

“Hey, where have you been? Took you an awfully long time to change,” she asks as soon as you are close enough, suspicious, “you missed Pollyanna.”

“Sorry, I, uh…” you trail off, frantic, mind drawing a blank as you try to think of a reasonable excuse, “had to—”

“She was with me,” a gruff voice cuts in, thick with smugness as his hand slaps onto your shoulder. Face draining of color you side glance to Chanyeol who stands closely behind you, his other hand sliding to hook his fingers into the belt loops of your jeans. When you dare to slowly look back to Seoyun, her gaze follows the path of his hand, processing, before focusing back on your face with raised brows. Then, “What are these?” She gasps, reaching to pull the collar of your sweater down, exposing a splotch of purple blossoming across your skin.

“Ay!” You grumble, smacking her hand away and jerking closer to Chanyeol. “You guys… seriously?” Seoyun grumbles disappointedly, pinching the bridge of her nose between two fingers. You tilt your head up to Chanyeol for help, the corners of his eyes crinkled as he gives a lopsided grin.

“It took you guys this fucking long just to fuckin a bathroom at our Christmas party?” She hisses, planting her hands on her hips as she bellows out a disbelieving laugh.

“We’re dating,” Chanyeol announces loudly once she has stopped snickering to herself like a lunatic. So loud, in fact, that a few heads close enough spin to see just who is dating who.

You suddenly wish the floor would swallow you up.

Seoyun nearly chokes. “Well, then,” she coughs, rocking on her heels, “shove a quarter up my ass because I just played myself.”

Her face softens when she watches Chanyeol securely wrap his arms around you from his spot behind you. She sighs. “I knew it was going to happen soon. You guys have been all over each other this past year. I’m pretty sure half the family has been waiting for this,” Seoyun beams, eyes twinkling joyously, “except you didn’t get a shot of getting one of Julia’s Italian cookbooks as a gift.”

“Fuck, man. I really wanted to add another to my collection,” Chanyeol fake whimpers and you laugh with Seoyun. “What’d you get?” You ask her, pouting in disappointment when Chanyeol unwinds his arms to stand next to you.

“Don’t be jealous, but,” she pauses, digging into her pocket before pulling out an Amazon gift card, “I actually got the best gift, to be honest. All the other shit was dumb knickknacks. Key chains and shit.”

“Seoyun!” Someone calls from behind you before you can express your envy. She grits her teeth.

“I’ll talk to you lovebirds in a bit. Mom needs me,” she sighs, giving your hand a squeeze as she moves past you.

Only a heartbeat later Chanyeol is stepping in front of you. “Sorry you missed out getting a gift,” he frowns, dropping his hands to hold yours but pauses when he realizes you are still holding the basket of potato chips, “I hope you’ll still have a merry Christmas.”

You laugh, brows drawing together when he seizes the basket out of your hands to place on top of the piano albeit the please keep things off piano sign. “Seriously? Nobody could ruin this Christmas even if they tried.”

When Chanyeol leans in close, resting his forehead against yours and sharing your breath, your fingers run down his spine to pull him close. The world falls always when he kisses you again, soft and slow and comforting in ways that words would never be. With his hand resting just below your ear, thumb caressing your cheek, you cannot help but smile against his lips when you feel the beating of his heart against your chest.

“Love you,” Chanyeol whispers.

Screw Pollyanna. In the end, you got the greatest gift of them all.